CallmeCath

18+

[baronessvonglitter]

Happy Campers

camp counselor!Joel Miller x f!reader | 3.4K | read on AO3

Summary: Joel Miller, the new head counselor at Camp Happy Trail, makes sure this summer will be one you won't forget.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! No outbreak AU. '80s AU. Think Camp Crystal Lake vibes w/o the murders. Set in 1980. Mention of another p-boi. Mention of semi-public sex. Accidental voyeurism. Fingering. F!masturbation. Joel is a bully AND has a big 🍆. Kissing. Breast/nipple play. One spank. F!oral. Unprotected piv. Creampie. Mention of pregnancy (not reader). Cheating. Secret fmf threesome (makes sense in context). M!oral. Cum swallowing. Reader is early-to-mid-twenties, able bodied, with breasts and vagina, but otherwise undescribed. Feel free to imagine Game Joel or Show Joel.

Adriana's note: another little thing in my wips for a few weeks, and I really wanted to have it out by the end of summer. This was inspired by a fantasy an idea of Joel in 1980s short shorts (this look should definitely make a comeback)

dividers by @/strangergraphics-archive 👑

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

SUMMER 1980

You love your summer job as counselor at Camp Happy Trail. You love being outdoors, helping the campers with swimming, canoeing, hiking, learning about nature. You’ve looked forward to it every summer since high school.

This year is different. There’s a new head counselor in town, and he’s trouble in the form of Joel Miller.

He’s tall, broad, graying, and stern. His dark brown eyes apprise every counselor in front of him as the group gathers on the camp’s front lawn two weeks before opening day. He goes over the rules and expectations of all staff members. You pay attention even though it’s the same old drill: no fucking around during working hours, make sure the campers are safe at all times, please report injuries and have them sent to the nurses station, et cetera. You could recite the rules by heart.

Only one thing has you concerned.

You raise your hand to speak. Joel glances over at you but continues talking, stressing the importance of keeping away from drugs and alcohol during the next two weeks, especially once the campers come on opening day. You know all that. Still, you wait with your hand raised until Joel sighs, giving you time to speak.

“What happened to Frankie?”

Joel tries really hard not to roll his eyes. “Francisco Morales won’t be here to help us set up. He’ll be here on the camp’s opening day.” He snorts, arms crossed as he eyes you up and down. “What, is he your boyfriend or somethin’?”

“No..” you reply, unable to stop the embarrassment from creeping up your spine. Of course you and Frankie hadn’t set any firm definitions about what you are, but the past two years you’ve spent here have also been spent by fucking him in the woods during early morning hikes, blowing him in the storage shed, and sneaking him into your cabin to have him go down on you all night.

You have his number, but there’s been no answer when you’ve called before driving up to the campsite. You wonder what’s keeping him from being here.

Piper, the girl you’ve hated since you’ve been counselors together these past few years, shoots a smug look your way as the meeting is adjourned, and she walks off with Joel’s arm around her waist. She glances over her shoulder at you, giving you the finger.

She’s just jealous because Frankie chose you over her two years ago. She hasn’t let you alone in peace since.

Joel is a hard task master. At dawn he has the counselors up and jogging through the trail in the woods and chopping firewood before breakfast. Swim safety is in the afternoon when the heat is at its worst, the air humid with the scent of sunblock and stagnant lake water. At the very least you’re given some time to lay out in the sun afterward, drying off on the warm boards of the dock.

Back at the cabins only two people are unaccounted for – Piper and Joel. The other counselors make crude guesses as to where they are and what they’re doing. You’re elected to go and find them before it gets dark. Piper has dinner duty and Maya refuses to do all the cooking alone.

Slipping on your jean shorts, your towel slung over your shoulders to catch the water droplets from your still-damp hair, you set out in search of Joel and Piper.

The sun is just starting to set when you find them in a thick copse of trees near the edge of the forest, Piper pressed against a tree as Joel’s fingering her, his hand down the front of her red bikini bottom as he plunges inside her, head bent close to her ear, muttering dirty things. You stop, half-hidden by the trees as you watch them, your own pussy growing wet just bearing witness. You know you should turn and leave, forget you ever saw this, just tell the others that Piper and Joel are coming back soon.

But you’re frozen to the spot, watching them in the secrecy of the woods, your own hand ghosting over your clothed clit, imagining what Joel’s thick, rough fingers must feel like.

There’s a sharp snap of a twig that echoes in the air, causing Piper and Joel to quickly part. You’re already hurrying down the path, shame and lust heating your cheeks.

Everyone is split up in pairs, the counselor bunks only small enough to house two comfortably, and unfortunately Joel assigns you and Piper together. You tell yourself it’ll just be a couple months and most days will be too busy for you to have to deal with her very much.

Piper grabs the top bunk before you have a chance to claim it. But once you’re settled in the bottom, she makes you switch back after she finds a spiderweb too close to the ceiling.

But even your nights can’t be peaceful. Joel sneaks in after lights out, and you have to endure the soft giggles and moans coming from the bunk below you. The entire bed frame rocks with Joel’s thrusts as he fucks your bunkmate.

Great, just great.

They make no effort to hide whatever’s going on between them. His hand is permanently on her ass, barely clothed in the camp counselor uniform shorts, his entire paw covering her ass cheek. The others don’t notice or don’t care, too caught up in their own romantic entanglements.

It only makes you miss Frankie more. Out here in the woods you have no way of contacting him except through the main office line, but Joel stands right in front of anyone who wants to call home, dials the number on the rotary phone, and waits with arms crossed as the call is made. Nobody does personal calls while he’s in charge.

You try to keep yourself busy with helping get the camp ready. The grass near the cabins is maintained, repairs are made to the buildings themselves (which Joel oversees, and you can’t help but to check him out a little while he’s fixing the sign above the infirmary – he looks too good with a hammer), checking that the generators are working properly, and that the electrical system and water pressure are good.

There’s so much to do that by the time you climb up into your bunk you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

The only thing that could possibly wake you is Joel fucking Piper in the bunk below yours.

Joel’s grunts and groans, paired with Piper’s moaning and gasping, keep you awake. You lose count of how many rounds they go, the entire bed bunk frame shaking with their movements. And at one point you can’t help it as your fingers travel beneath your sleep shorts, finding your wet pussy and tracing your slit. Two fingers fit inside you easily as you lift your legs to get comfortable. Closing your eyes you start fucking yourself on your hand, imagining Joel’s fingers inside of you instead of yours.

You’re trying desperately to keep your whimpering to a minimum but you doubt they’ll hear you over their own sounds. Your fingers match the pace of Joel’s thrusts, though you imagine his cock is a lot bigger than your two fingers combined. And the way he’s been fucking Piper for almost an hour solidifies the fact that his stamina is good.

Your fingers glide over your clit, circling and swiping, your hips arching up as you chase the friction you so desperately need for your release as you listen to Piper’s moans and Joel’s increasing grunts. Eyes squeezed tight you plunge your fingers as deep as you can, timing it just right with Piper’s final, momentous scream. You try to keep as quiet as possible as your release coats your hand, clit throbbing, legs quaking.

Joel corners you after breakfast the next morning, barring you from following the others to the field where a soccer match was planned. Instead he drags you to the boat shed. You hate it there. It’s dusty and cramped and there are cobwebs in the corners.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your heart in your throat as Joel peers down at you, something unreadable in his deep brown eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he mimics you. “You think I don’t know you were gettin’ yourself off to me and Piper last night?”

The blood drains from your face, leaving you cold. “Wh-what?”

“Stop actin’ innocent. You weren’t exactly quiet. Piper was laughin’ at you, sayin’ you’re a lonely little virgin.”

“I’m not a virgin,” you tell him tersely.

“Really?” Joel’s voice is full of derision. “Prove it.”

The blood drains from your face. “H-how?”

“You’re a smart girl. You know how.” But just to be mean he explains it in detail. “How about you bend over–” he slaps the hull of a nearby canoe and puts his hand on your lower back, pressuring you towards it. “--pull those pretty little short-shorts down and let me check for myself.”

“You’re not serious,” you sputter.

“You afraid or somethin’?” he smirks.

You’re not afraid per se. But you’re definitely wet enough so that he’ll tease you if he finds out. “Of course not,” you stand up to him boldly.

He looks amused by this, and the way he cups his bulge in his own shorts shows he’s more than a little turned on. Your eyes drop down to where his thick cock is hardening under the skin-tight fabric.

With determination in your eyes, you’re certain of yourself when you reach up and grab Joel by the nape of his neck, kissing him. His eyes go wide at the initial shock of surprise, but then they close, a deep and satisfied growl in his chest as he kisses you back, his tongue slipping past your lips. Your gasp turns into a soft moan as his large paw on your lower back presses you closer to him, rubbing his hard-on against you.

“I bet this pussy’s already soaked,” he mutters, finally breaking from the kiss to nip at your neck. “But first..” he pulls away, a devilish look in his eye. “Lift up that shirt, honey, and lemme see those pretty titties.”

You scoff despite the fact that you are indeed soaked, but you’re already this far in. You might as well go all the way. You lift up your shirt, your white lacy bra on full display. Joel’s big meaty hands pull down the cups, palming your tits with his rough bare hands, bouncing them in his palms. “Look at these.. you gonna lemme suck ‘em?”

Fuck. This isn’t going how you expected but you can’t complain. You nod and he immediately pulls you close, picking you up and pinning you against the canoe as he takes your nipple in his mouth, groaning, using his free hand to pinch your other nipple. “So sweet,” he groans, releasing off you with a wet pop before sucking on the other.

“Joel!” you gasp, a fresh wave of wetness seeping through your underwear.

“Don’t worry, I’m gettin’ there,” he mumbles, helping you shimmy out of your shorts and pressing you forward against the boat. He lands a quick spank across your ass cheek, chuckling at the way your flesh jiggles and the sound of your yelp. Then he spreads your cheeks wide. “Look at that.. pretty as the mornin’ dew..” He kneels down and laps at your honey, making you moan. Almost too late you catch yourself, muffling your own sounds with your palm.

His large, rough hand trails down your spine, keeping you in place as the thick head of his cock slides through your folds, collecting your wetness and teasing you as he slides between your cheeks. You mewl in protest as he chuckles. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not a virgin. Not the way you’re actin’ so greedy for my cock. Well darlin’, take it..”

He eases into you, using shallow thrusts and you can’t help but exhale, the rush of breath leaving you in surprise before he angles you down, sliding in to the hilt. “You’re full of me now,” he grunts out, holding steady to your hips. “God damn, tighter than a nun’s asshole.”

Your walls flutter around him with each stroke, your hands bracing you against the smooth wood of the upturned canoe. You whimper in time with each smooth thrust. Each time Joel bottoms out you feel it deep in your belly, probably deeper than anyone’s ever gone.

“Wish you could see how you’re soakin’ me,” Joel grunts, giving a few quick thrusts to let you hear the sound of your sloppy pussy. “How do you like it, darlin’? You want me to make a mess of you inside, or do you need me to pull out and shove this cock down your throat so you can swallow my load?”

“I-inside,” you pant. “I have an IUD.”

“That’s a relief,” Joel mutters, speeding up, one big hand wrapping around your front to tickle your clit. “C’mon, baby, need you to come on my cock before I bust inside you..”

He slows down just enough for you to work your way up to it, the heat building in your belly and your core, moaning at the way he lifts your hips to meet each thrust, sweat gathering at your temples. “Joel,” you whine, thinking of nothing but the way he’s fucking and filling and stretching your cunt. With an expertly angled thrust home you fall apart, moaning his name as you squeeze around him, and he picks up the pace, slamming into you until he swells inside you, his hot cum painting your walls. His cock is still twitching in the aftershocks when he finally releases his grip on your hips and pulls out of you. You quickly shove your underwear and shorts back on to catch his leavings already starting to leak out.

“Smart girl, bein’ on birth control,” Joel mutters, stuffing himself back into his own shorts. “I wish Piper was responsible like that.”

You school your features into nonchalance after you pull your shirt back down. There’s a little stab of guilt when you realize you’ve just fucked your bunkmate’s boyfriend.. even if she is a bitch. “What do you mean?” you ask innocently.

He reddens, as if he shouldn’t have spoken. “You’re sworn to secrecy, alright? Piper’s pregnant.”

“What?” Joel immediately clamps his hand over your mouth. He still smells like sex.

“Shut. Up,” he warns. “If I find out you told anyone else you’re packin’ your bags and goin’ home. Understand?”

You nod and whisper “Yes,” when he removes his hand. “It’s yours?”

He scoffs. “She says so. Still– not a peep. Got it?”

Piper becomes grumpy when Joel’s visits make an abrupt stop. But she’s no bitchier than usual, likely trying to get back into Joel’s good graces. Little does she know he’s only stopped coming to her because he’s taken up fucking you instead – in the storage shed, in the empty cots in the infirmary, the walk-in pantry in the kitchen. He maintains the position that he doesn’t like you very much while you’re in front of the others, sometimes giving you tasks you have to complete on your own – with the sole purpose of finding you to hook up.

The last night before the campers are due, everyone lets loose. Couples sneak off into the woods with sleeping bags and sinful intentions, some stay on the pier by the lake, drinking and laughing.

You’re the only one who’s made it to your bunk at an appropriate hour, wanting a full night’s rest before the big day. But your sleep is interrupted when Joel and Piper come in, slamming the door behind them, all over each other, kissing and giggling. With a silent groan you put your pillow over your head, already expecting to drown out the noises they’re about to make, which are going to keep you up all night.

They’re in the bottom bunk, a little quieter now that their mouths are busy. But soon there’s that familiar rocking rhythm and the sound of Piper’s moans and squeals, coming to a crescendo. Once again Joel’s stamina is off the charts. You’re in the middle of pleasuring yourself, two fingers shoved as deep as you can go, when everything stops and you hear Joel murmuring. There’s a creak as he gets out of the bunk, and Piper giggles as he positions her facing away. Now Joel’s eye level with your bunk and you gasp as you come face to face with him. He winks at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you whisper as quietly as you can.

“She caught up with me. I couldn’t shake her,” he explains just as softly. “Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart. Bring that pretty pussy to my face.”

Without hesitating you lift up your nightdress, scooting to the edge of the bed, thighs spread around Joel’s face as he fucks into Piper – oblivious to everything going on – in the bottom bunk. He’s got his dick buried in her while he’s eating you out. You’ve never experienced anything hotter.

You hear Piper’s staccato cries as Joel pounds into her from behind, his own moans humming through your flesh, heightening your arousal, your clit standing at attention between Joel’s lips, his mustache tickling your soft skin. You already know you’re going to come when your legs start shaking, toes curling at the waves of pressure building up in your very core.

“Joel!” you try to whisper as softly as possible. “Joel!.. I’m gonna come!”

He only smacks harder into Piper, her own cries louder than yours. “Come for me,” he whispers back, the tip of his tongue giving one teasing swirl around your pearl before he dives back in. Your back arches off the bed, lightning shooting through your veins as your cunt pulses, drenching Joel’s mouth as you come. He groans, licking up every drop, watching you through his lashes. “Good girl,” he whispers, backing off when you become too sensitive, his lips warm on your inner thigh, stubble scratching at your soft skin as he pulls off of Piper, turning her around so she’s sucking him off.

You hear her moaning and sighing, gagging on his cock. Meanwhile Joel lazily fingers you, scissoring his digits inside your sloppy pussy, his eyes black and glossy while Piper deep-throats him. Your fingers card through his hair as you ignore the softening of your heart in seeing him so tame and vulnerable.

Your name is on his lips but he moans Piper just in the nick of time, his breaths growing unsteady as he comes close to the end, getting ready to bust in Piper’s mouth. You take his head in your cupped hands. “Come, Joel.. give her what she wants,” you whisper. He groans, his thrusts getting sloppy as he fucks his girlfriend’s throat, stilling at last, his features tensing then relaxing as Piper gasps softly, swallowing his thick load.

The next day Joel treats you the same as he always has. Everyone’s minds are on the Opening Day festivities ahead, even if some of the counselors look like they’ve only had a couple hours’ sleep. You’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, not just because of last night, but because you’re genuinely excited for summer camp to officially begin.

The campers hurry out of the stuffy buses and onto the rolling green grass, toting duffel bags, wearing the gold and blue camp tees and ball caps, eager for their summer to begin. Everyone is assigned to a counselor, and as soon as your group is ready you start to lead them to their cabin. You have a full day ahead: a quick icebreaker so everyone can become acquainted, a scavenger hunt that will enable the kids to work as a team, then a game of capture the flag, then lunch. You have your day cut out for you, and in the back of your mind you wonder if you’ll cross paths with Joel again..

Your thoughts are interrupted by someone shouting back at the buses. All the counselors turn to look, surprise written on their faces as they find one more latecomer to Camp Happy Trail.

Frankie Morales, adjusting the Standard Oil cap on his head, dark curls already sticking to the sweat on his neck, hurries off the last bus. His royal blue camp tee clings to his torso like sin, accentuating his broad frame. You’re speechless when he reaches you, putting his arms around you and lifting you off the ground before landing a big kiss on your lips. The campers are grossed out, giggling and making faces.

When he pulls away, cupping your face in his hands, you can feel everyone’s eyes on you, just as shocked as you are to see him finally arrive. “I missed you, babe,” he says, planting one more kiss on your forehead. “So what have I missed?”

if you made it this far, thank you! follow @baronessvonglitter-fics for updates 💚

🌲taglist🌲: @callmecath1 | @speaktothehandpeasants | @milla-frenchy | @time-for-my-weekly-spanking | @sawymredfox | @cozymochaa | @esotericmidnightreveries | @mysterialee | @604to647 | @ashleyfilm | @madpanda75 | @tateypots | @inept-the-magnificent | @aurorawritestoescape | @moonyyymoon | @bergamote-catsandbooks | @cowboy-like-m3 | @maggiemayhemnj | @victorian-cherub | @ace-turned-confused | @spoiledboys | @billionairecowgirl | @kenziejc | @vodkaandpizza | @faceache111 | @kristine09 | @emeliepastelskiesxox | @ilovecheesse | @thewitchflowcr | @lakastamamo | @mila-rod | @misstokyo7love | @mayonessie | @bardot49

[skyesdelight]

Force of Nature: Part Five

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You bring Joel as your date to a wedding where your past rears its ugly head.

Warnings: explicit language, reader has anxiety (there's some panic attacks in this one), reader has an abusive ex that is mentioned but no details, smut (piv sex, some oral), verrrryy slight dom/sub dynamic where reader is the dom 🤭 but seriously it's very tame, alcohol consumption, hurt/comfort, angst

other parts found here

We cordially invite you to celebrate the union of Carly and James...

The thick, expensive cardstock stuck to your cork board next to your desk stares you down on this particular day. The date in big, cursive letters in the center of the invitation are screaming at you. Honestly, they have been getting louder and louder with each passing week because the closer you get to the date of their wedding, the more you're reminded you already rsvp'd months ago. With a plus one.

A plus one you didn't want to include. But you had no choice. It was either include him, or skip the wedding entirely. And you know deep down he would have preferred you skip it entirely because that would have destroyed yet another friendship—one that had the potential to save you from the misery of your relationship with him.

So now you're stuck going to this wedding and sitting next to an empty chair with his fucking name in front of the plate while everyone gives you pitying looks all night, or...

Your fingers dial his number before you have time to doubt yourself.

"What's up, honey?"

Joel's deep drawl answers in the middle of the second ring. The familiar way he speaks to you stretches a smile across your face, but then you hear the power tools in the background and your smile falls.

"Oh, shit, you're on a site."

"Yeah, but—"

"I'll call you later—"

"I'm here now," he insists.

"But you're bu—"

Then Joel says your name in the way that makes your eyelids flutter and you stop talking.

"I wouldn't've answered if I couldn't talk."

You inhale slowly and nod, even though he can't see you.

"Right," you breathe, "sorry."

There's a pause on the other end, like Joel is trying to understand your tone through what little you've said so far. It's hard to read, but he picks up pretty quickly that something is troubling you simply because you're not playfully tossing witty remarks at him like you usually would.

"Everythin' okay?" he finally asks. The worry in his voice makes you feel bad.

"Yeah, no, everything's fine," you say quickly, "I just wanted to see if you're free next weekend?"

"For you? 'Course I am."

"Okay," you exhale, "but, like... would you be cool with coming to a wedding with me? As my date?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for an awkward pause while he thinks of a lame excuse, but then—

"Yeah, I'd love to."

Your eyes open.

"Really?"

"You thought I'd say no?"

"Well, no, not really. But we're just, you know... and I didn't..."

Okay, now you're making an idiot of yourself even more. You sound completely stupid. Warmth burns your cheeks as you stammer over your words, but finally Joel chuckles through the phone and you pinch your lips shut.

"I know you don't wanna label this," he says, "and that's fine. Y'know it doesn't bother me. I'll wear you down one day."

You giggle and the nerves that have been twisting around in your stomach begin to settle.

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm ridiculous? You thought I wouldn't want you on my arm at a wedding and I'm ridiculous?"

You lean back in your chair and tilt your head, grinning up at the ceiling. "Alright, I gotta go."

"Wait!"

"What?" you sigh, still smiling.

"What are you wearin'?"

"Good bye!"

"I meant to the wedding!" Joel laughs.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure," you answer dryly.

You can hear the smile in his voice over the heavy machinery in the background. "C'mon. Gimme a hint."

"Something... I don't know. I might need to go shopping."

There's a pause, then Joel replies. "And what 'bout now?"

You roll your eyes. You knew it. "Something slutty."

"Really?"

"No, I'm wearing a shirt with a coffee stain on it and old jean shorts. Do you really think I'm working from home in lingerie?"

"Well, would it kill you to do it just once?"

You think about it for a second. "It might, yeah."

"My birthday's in September," he says, and you can hear the crunch of gravel under his boots as he walks back to his crew, "now you know what you can get me."

"For your birthday you want me to work from home in something slutty? That's it?"

"No, never said that's it," he corrects. "Wouldn't mind a few pictures throughout the day and an unlocked front door at five on the dot so I can let myself in. Wanna play CEO and overworked secretary—"

"Good bye! For real this time!" you laugh.

"Yeah, okay, okay," he smiles, "can I call you tonight?"

"Sure," you say, ignoring the flutter in your belly.

"Don't work too hard, honey," Joel says before hanging up.

"I'll try," you reply, then a moment later, the phone goes dead.

You set it down on your desk and take a deep breath. When your gaze settles on the wedding invitation, you feel a little better. It'll be fun with Joel. He knows how to charm a room.

You just hope you can avoid the topic of your ex for the night.

***

You're in your bathroom, hair still damp, robe cinched tightly around your waist, and a whole mess of makeup spread out in front of you when you hear the knock on your front door.

"It's open!"

Joel's heavy footsteps echo from down the hallway when he enters, then your door clicks shut and you hear a rustling of his pants where he's presumably slipping off his shoes before meandering down to your bedroom, a familiar path for him at this point.

"Hey—"

His greeting gets cut short when he sees you very much not ready in your bathroom.

"Ain't we leavin' in an hour?" he asks.

"Yeah," you reply without glancing up from your makeup bag.

"Well, as much as I love your robe, think you might be a little underdressed."

You sigh and turn your head only to find that Joel isn't ready either—not unless he plans on wearing a beat up shirt and jeans to the wedding.

"You should talk," you say. Then he smirks and pulls his wardrobe bag into view, where it had been held just outside your doorframe.

"Knew you wouldn't be ready and I didn't want the damn suit gettin' wrinkled."

"Oh, ha ha," you answer dryly before turning back to your mirror. You're more nervous than you anticipated and your indecisiveness proves it. Why are you agonizing over which eyeshadow to use?

You decide to work on your hair instead, combing it out and readying your curling iron and various products on the sink. At this rate, there's hardly a glimpse of your countertop to be seen, but there's a method to your madness.

Meanwhile, Joel is making himself comfortable in your bedroom. The television is on and you hear the mattress shift under his weight, leaving you to your devices for a while, which you appreciate. It isn't until your hair is done just the way you want it and pinned back away from your face so you can work on your makeup does Joel appear in your doorway again.

He's quiet for a bit but you can feel him there, leaning against the frame, watching you blend in your foundation and blush. It's when you lean forward on your tiptoes to apply your mascara, lips slightly parted and robe hanging loosely from your breasts do you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter. You blink and turn your head in his direction and sure enough, Joel is leaning casually against your wall, ankles crossed and hands holding up his phone, snapping pictures.

"What are you doing?" you ask, knowing you must look crazy with one eye done and the other still bare. Joel grins and takes another picture.

"Don't got any pictures of you," he murmurs, slowly dropping his phone to his side. "And you just look so... beautiful. Like this."

"Oh, please," you exhale sarcastically, but your heart flips in your chest and heat instantly rises to your face, betraying the annoyance in your tone.

"I mean it," he chuckles, then he pockets his phone into his black pants and it's at that point you realize he's changed and he looks... really fucking hot. Your brain stutters when you take in the perfect fit of his pants, the crisp lines in his bright white button down, and the beautifully laid champagne satin tie around his neck.

Your gaze must linger too long on the way his waist looks in those pants because he has to say your name to get your attention back up to his face.

"I know that look," he teases with a wag of his finger, "gotta take me out on a date first 'fore I put out, little lady."

"History has proven that's a big, fat lie," you scoff, dragging your eyes back to the mirror. You can't stop the smirk when you hear Joel's laughter—it's always so genuine and deep. You really like that about him—he's not fake. He's just... him.

Eventually, his laughter dies down to a comfortable silence as he watches you work on your right eye, then line your lips before tapping on some lipstick and gloss. When you lightly blot and press them together to properly distribute the coverage, he groans loudly from the door, tearing your eyes away from the mirror once again.

"What?"

"Should've kissed you before you did all that."

You grin and shrug as you pack your makeup back into your bag. "Oh, well. Now you'll have to wait til later."

When you move to slide past him, his arm whips out to wrap tightly around your waist, tugging you into his side.

"Or... you'll just have to do it all again."

"Joel—don't you fucking—"

But then his mouth is pressed firmly against yours with a pleased moan, stopping your threat right in its tracks. He doesn't try to deepen the kiss, he just massages his lips against yours, savoring the small bit of intimacy before having to be reserved in public the rest of the night.

"I can't believe you," you whisper when he pulls away. Your lipgloss is smeared all over his mouth and it makes you smile before you gently work to wipe it away with your thumb.

"Sorry," he mumbles, nipping playfully at the pad of your finger.

"No you're not."

Joel chuckles. "You're right. I'm not."

It's fine. You were going to touch up your lips before getting to the event anyway. So you leave it be for now and go into your room to get your dress, which is the easiest move of your whole process. It takes literally minutes for you to slip it on and once you get a look at yourself in the mirror you think you look pretty damn good.

The dress you chose is a nude color with thin straps and square neckline. There's subtle rhinestones sewn into the sheer outer layer. They catch the light just right when you turn to look at yourself in the mirror, but the best and most fatal feature is the long slit up your left leg. It ends at a reasonable spot on your upper thigh but you make a mental note to be careful the more you drink throughout the night.

Is it a risky dress to wear to someone else's wedding? Maybe. But the look on Joel's face when he returns from fixing his hair in your bathroom makes it totally worth it.

"You like it?" you ask innocently, turning around to flash him a little leg with your hands propped on your hips.

"Jesus fuckin'—" The words fall out of his mouth as his gaze burns your skin. He isn't even close to touching you but you feel him, the tension behind his stare, as he takes in every single inch of you. Then his hand dramatically grabs onto your doorframe right before his knees buckle and you giggle.

"You—you can't—"

"What?" you grin as you begin to pack your clutch with essentials for the night.

"You can't wear that," he spits out, "I'm gonna get arrested. You're gonna get me thrown in jail."

You roll your eyes but can't stop smiling. God, he's so cute and always knows the right things to say. It's almost infuriating.

"You'll live," you assure him, tapping his cheek gently before slipping out of your room. "C'mon, we're gonna be late."

"Honey, Jesus, I-I can't—"

You laugh lightly over your shoulder. "Joel! I appreciate what you're trying to do but I'm serious! We have to get on the road."

"I'm not fuckin' around," he insists, trailing after you, eyes still big as saucers. "You tryin' to kill me?"

"Just think about how good it'll feel to take this off me at the end of the night," you tease while slipping on your heels. Joel swallows tight and it's just now that you notice his neck is flushed bright red. Shit, maybe he isn't exaggerating.

"You think I'm gonna make it the whole night, then you don't know me at all," he mutters before forcing himself to take a few deep breaths to clear his head. You laugh again at the theatrics and grab your keys.

"Guess we'll find out."

***

The venue is beautiful, at least.

It's a winery you've heard of but never been to called Wimberley Valley. It's just outside of Austin, located in the admittedly beautiful hill country. Miles of open land surround the estate, allowing you a spectacular view. It's a nice change of pace, even if it's just for one night.

"Jesus," Joel murmurs once he parks your car and looks around at the sprawling venue. The area's natural beauty blends perfectly with the upscale resort and surrounding vineyards. "This place is fancy. How you know them, again?"

"I know Carly from college," you say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Joel whistled low before slipping out of the car and rounding the back to open your door. He's fiddling with his suit coat before he comes to his senses and offers you his hand.

"Hope I didn't wrinkle anything," you say under your breath. You're adjusting your dress while Joel shuts the car door, but when he is about to lead you towards the building, you stop him.

"Wait—my bag—"

He frowns when he spots you holding your clutch. "Wha—"

Then you open your backseat, revealing a duffel bag, and he looks even more confused until you explain.

"I got a room," you tell him, suddenly feeling a little shy. Why didn't you ask him first? "I—I packed some clothes for you. The shirt I took and, um, sweats you left behind that, uh... that one time. It's so we can both drink and, you know, not worry about driving, or... whatever."

A slow smirk stretches across his face, giving you a glimpse of those dimples under his trimmed beard. "Or whatever, huh?"

You roll your eyes. "Joel..." you begin to say in a threatening tone, but it's too late.

"Don't think you'd make it the drive home without jumpin' my bones, I get it, it's okay."

"That is not—"

"I ain't judgin' you, it's responsible, actually," he continues, offering you the crook of his arm with a cocky smile. You loop your hand through with an exasperated sigh and allow him to lead you through the parking lot, towards the venue. "Can't blame you, either. This suit fits me like a goddamn glove."

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter as your short lived embarrassment disappears.

It's warm today, but not sweltering. You attribute that to the hilly terrain and wide open grounds that allow for cool, gentle breezes to keep all the guests comfortable. It will be the perfect day for an outdoor wedding. But even if it does get too hot, it will be easy to just slip inside the refreshingly crisp air conditioned lobby for a break since the courtyard is attached just beyond. You can see it through the floor to ceiling windows when you step up to the front desk.

"Welcome," a bubbly young girl behind the counter greets with a practiced smile. "Are you here for the ceremony, or checking in?"

"Both," you reply, then offer her your name so she can look up your reservation. As she taps away on her keyboard, Joel leans in so he can whisper in your ear.

"How much did this place cost?"

"Don't worry about it."

There's a gentle press of his hand against your lower back and you find yourself shifting your weight towards him.

"Can I pay you back?"

"You already are," you say quietly, "you're my date, remember?"

"So you want me to pay you with my body, that it?"

You playfully jab him in the shoulder as your cheeks flush with heat, mentally praying the receptionist didn't just hear his dumb joke. It doesn't appear like she did, but you never know.

"Shut up or you're walking home," you grin, and he chuckles before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. He turns from the desk, hand slipping from your back to hold your duffle while his gaze slowly roams over the ornate chandeliers, twinkling string lights, gorgeous floral arrangements, and expensive looking velvet couches scattered throughout the lobby, leaving you with the stupid looking smile on your face that he left after kissing your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Here you are, fifth floor," the receptionist chirps brightly after you've signed the appropriate paperwork. You take the keycards with a grateful smile while she offers you directions to your room.

"I'll go up and drop off the bag," Joel says once you hand him his key, "meet you down here in a minute."

"Are you sure?"

"'Course. Grab us good seats," he tells you while jutting his chin towards the courtyard lined with pristine white chairs.

Once he disappears into an elevator, you wander towards the crystal clear glass doors that lead outside. You can see people already mingling with programs clutched in their hands, sharing smiles and pleasantries amongst the other guests. You quickly scan the crowds searching for any familiar faces as you find a table with programs adorned with pictures of the happy couple. There are a few photos with friends and family and you smile wistfully at the frozen moments in time. Life seemed so much simpler back then.

After picking up a program just for something to hold, you turn back to the beautifully decorated courtyard. A mix of roses, peonies, baby's breath and hydrangeas in differing shades of white and dusty pink adorn the aisle and arch. It's classy. Elegant. Very Carly. It makes you smile a little to yourself while you pick a row near the back, seats on the aisle so you can still get a good view. You set your clutch down on the chair next to you to save Joel's seat, cross your legs, and begin to peruse the program in your lap.

When you eyes land on the list of bridesmaids, your heart stops.

You forgot. How could you forget she was part of the wedding party?

Suddenly, the air feels stifling. Your face burns as the panic swells in your chest. Squeezing your eyes shut, you take a deep breath and count backwards from ten.

It's a big wedding. There's probably almost two hundred people.

You probably won't even run into her.

She'll be sitting at the front with Carly most of the night.

Maybe you can convince Joel to go back to the room early, pretend to have a headache or something.

Fuck. Fuck. Your usual calming techniques aren't working. Your hands are shaking, you can hear the program crinkling in your grip. Your mind is spiraling as you envision every single worst case scenario until—

"Hey."

His voice alone brings fresh air into your lungs. You open your eyes to find Joel sliding into his seat, holding your clutch on his lap and looking at you curiously. "You alright?"

You swallow and nod but he sees through it.

"Yeah. No. I mean—"

You must look as frantic as you feel because Joel glances around quickly before shifting in his seat to block the courtyard's view of you in your chair.

"You need to go to the restroom or the car?" he offers gently. A reassuring hand squeezes your shoulder and you take another deep breath, already feeling your pulse begin to slow.

"No, I'm good. I'm okay," you breathe. Your face feels warm but no longer hot. Your hands are still. It's passing.

"Okay," Joel says slowly, scanning your face with concern. It pulls at your chest the way his brows knit together with worry. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

You swallow again and drop your gaze. Your instinct is to dodge the question, but something about the way he's looking at you makes you speak the words before you have a chance to choke them back down.

"My ex's twin sister is a bridesmaid. I—I forgot."

Joel looks surprised you're so forthright but he has the decency to keep the moment from feeling too vulnerable.

"Is it a problem? Are you... will she bother you?"

You shake your head and shrug. You feel normal again. The blood has drained from your face and you skin doesn't feel as hot as before.

"Maybe. I don't know. Probably not. But... you remember the girl with the pool table?"

Joel frowns for a second before he remembers the story, the one about you and a friend who got kicked out of a bar in a prior life one too many times. One who you used to trust with your entire life. One who turned on you the moment the truth came out about her brother.

"Yeah."

"It's her. We were—we used to be... super close."

Joel nods. "Lemme guess," he says, "her brother's the same ex that was gonna come with you today?"

"Yeah," you sigh.

Joel thinks about it for a few minutes, watching as the rows begin to fill with guests. Laughter and mindless chatter surrounds you, ignoring your crisis in favor of small talk about the weather and sports. Then his arm drapes around the top of your chair and he sits back with a loud sigh. He fixes his tie with his other hand and you notice with a little smile he still has your clutch in his lap.

"You stick with me, honey," Joel finally says, "you'll be okay. Anyone starts bringin' up the past and I'll whisk you away for a dance or somethin'. Don't worry. Just have fun, alright?"

It's so fucking sweet. He probably has so many questions but he's not prying. His only concern is making sure you're comfortable and honestly it's... hard to get used to. But dammit if you don't really like it.

"Yeah," you say softly. Joel glances your direction and smiles. "Thank you."

He doesn't say anything back. Just settles in and watches the pianist warm up, entirely unbothered and relaxed. So you sit back and try to do the same.

***

The ceremony was flawless. Exactly the type of wedding you'd expect from Carly, who always was the preppy one. The one who got her first small designer handbag way too young. The one who grew up going to country clubs and literally summered in the Hamptons at least twice that you knew of. But she was always kind, she never allowed her family's wealth change her. She never thought she was better than anyone and was always welcoming. Carly is the girl who proved you shouldn't judge a book by its cover because when you first met her and saw her perfect bleach blonde hair, brand new Ralph Lauren polo, and denim miniskirt with a chic Louis Vuitton purse, you definitely judged. But it only took a few days for you to realize you were wrong, then you ended up being close friends with her and a handful of other girls for the remainder of your college career.

During the wedding, you avoided looking in her direction. You kept your gaze locked on Carly's stunning smile. When the bridal party exited after the vows, you chickened out and ducked your head so she wouldn't see you.

If Joel noticed, he didn't say anything.

The glass of wine you have during the cocktail hour before the reception helped ease those nerves a bit. You notice a few familiar faces amongst the crowd of guests mingling around fancy hors d'oeuvres but you keep to yourselves, tucked away on the edge of the courtyard pressed against a tall table meant for two.

Joel follows your lead. He doesn't pressure you. He talks about the ceremony and makes jokes about the impossible to pronounce appetizers. He smoothes down his satin tie and nods politely when he makes eye contact with a guest or worker. He offers to get you food so you don't put yourself at risk of bumping into anyone you're not ready to speak to yet.

Everything's going well until the ballroom opens to allow guests to find their tables. When you wander up to search for your name card, you feel sick when you find his name along with yours.

You know it wasn't done to hurt you. The RSVP was sent back months ago. Carly's wedding planner likely sent all the names to the printer long before everything came to light, but still... seeing his name with yours causes your body to lock up. You take note of the table number and crumple the card in your fist until it's unrecognizable, but Joel already saw. He caught a glimpse of the name paired with yours and his lips press together tightly before planting a comforting hand on your back to lead you away.

"What table?" he asks softly.

"Ten."

Your voice sounds tight and foreign. His palm rubs over your lower back, a gentle reminder to stay present, to not let the fear and panic win, that it's going to be okay. So you take a deep breath and let him lead you to your table, where you choose your seats and refuse to put your name card in front of your plates.

"I hope steak is okay," you say weakly. It's the only hint of acknowledgment you want to give around the fact that these decisions were made long before Joel.

"Better than okay," he grins, then squeezes your knee under the table. The tightness in your chest loosens, your body picking up on Joel's relaxed energy and trying to match it. It's going to take a long time for your body to stop reacting to every minor situation with fight or flight mode, but Joel is making it easier.

You settle once your table fills. Some names you recognize, others you don't, but after introductions you realize everyone at table ten are all friends of Carly. Three you remember from school, the rest are a mix of her coworkers or friends growing up. It's perfect, actually. No one knows you well enough to remember your past but not distantly enough where it's awkward for you to exchange comfortable conversation. You manage to loosen up and enjoy yourself for a while, even after the bridal party does their entrance, you manage to keep the anxiety in check. It's after dinner when you're a couple drinks in and your walls have come down that you're met with the next challenge of the night.

The tone of the evening has shifted from swanky classical music to more bass heavy dance music and some ballads. The sun is almost set, the lighting is dim, the conversations around the room have gotten louder and more jovial, no doubt fueled by the open bar. With drinks in hand from the bar—you with some type of sparkling wine that sounded good, Joel with a neat glass of whiskey—you eye up the courtyard through the windows. The ballroom is growing a little stuffy so you decide to wander outside together, get some fresh air, and enjoy the last of the sun's rays.

"This place must've set them back," Joel says once you've found a quiet bench overlooking an impressive garden. Nearby is a large fire pit area with several seating options, but there's already a small crowd and you feel like taking a break from people.

"Her family is loaded," you explain, "I think her dad did something with investments? Or he was a stock broker? I can't remember."

Joel hums, stretches his arm across the back of the bench, and takes a sip from his glass. "Glad we finally found a quiet spot for ourselves."

"Me, too." You relax into the bench, angling your body in Joel's direction just a bit. His dark gaze flickers down at your dress. "Thanks for coming with me. I couldn't have done it alone."

Joel just smiles. "Yeah, you could've. But I'm more than happy to be here."

Some laughter spilling out from the ballroom draws your attention when the French doors swing open. Heels clicking against stone and giggling melt with the sounds from those at the fire pit, but you don't pay it much mind because Joel is suddenly in your ear.

"You look beautiful, y'know that?" he whispers. You grin and tilt your head back in his direction. His deep brown eyes sparkle with warmth under the string lights, filling you with delight because despite there being very beautiful women in every direction, his focus is entirely on you.

"You don't look too bad yourself," you tease, tugging gently on his tie. He smirks and leans forward a bit more, closing the space between you by a few more inches.

"Nothin' compared to you. Anyone ever tell you not to show up the bride on her own wedding day?" You laugh and he tuts under his breath. "Just ain't right is what that is. Oughta take you somewhere and mess up that hair 'n makeup a bit. Maybe wrinkle the dress."

His whiskey is set on the bench next to him, freeing his hand to wander slowly from your bare knee up your thigh where the slit in your dress has exposed your leg. Already there's a pang of arousal that simmers low in your belly and it's probably the alcohol that's made you forget the setting because instead of stopping him, you lean in.

"You lasted longer than I thought," you murmur so only he can hear. He smirks.

"Tryin' to be good f'you," he says quietly, lips only an inch or two away from brushing against yours, "but you make it so goddamn hard."

"Oh, I know," you joke, stepping into the double entendre with both feet. He groans a laugh and is half a second from kissing you when you hear your name and your heart plummets to your stomach.

You know that voice. Your muscles go rigid and before Joel can even read your face, he knows. He feels you tense under his palm but regardless, he doesn't guiltily jump away. He eases back slowly, keeps his eyes locked on you, then eventually lets his wandering hand fall to his lap with a heavy sigh before following your gaze to the young woman and her partner standing just a few feet away.

"Leah," you say, voice sounding like it's being dragged over gravel. You stand and awkwardly tug at the skirt of your dress. "H-Hey, it's uh. It's nice to, um, see you."

You sound pathetic. Before you can curl in on yourself and die, Joel stands. He buttons his coat and plants himself firmly at your side. Leah's gaze flits from you to him and you can see the gears in her head turn.

"Yeah. Hey." She sounds confused. Or amused, maybe? It's hard to tell. But then you spot the lipstick stained highball glass in her hand and figure she's on a tape delay, same as you. Her eyes find you again after she took a little too long analyzing Joel and she cocks her head. "I didn't know if you would be able to make it," she says. You swallow.

"I mean, how could I miss it?" you shrug, hoping to come off unbothered. You don't. Joel's hand rests gently on the middle of your back, steadying you. It helps.

Too much time lapses between your last words. You both know she didn't expect you to come without her brother, but Carly's your friend. Of course you'd come. Still, it makes you feel small, like coming without your original date is somehow considered poor taste or something.

Your gaze flickers to Leah's husband and you offer him a small smile, ignoring the way your heart sits like a stone in your chest when you remember you stood up in their own wedding just two years ago. These people, who you've known for so long, now feel like strangers, and you hate it.

Then, like you're hit over the head with the manners hammer, you snap out of it and remember Joel silently standing guard by your side.

"I'm s-sorry, uh, this is Joel—"

You look up at him next to you and feel a moment of relief. His left hand remains on your back and his right extends to politely shake both their hands while murmuring a good to meet you in his deep, southern drawl.

"Uh, yeah..." Leah says slowly, her eyes sticking on Joel too long once again. You can read her face like a book. She's trying to recall if she's ever met him before, or perhaps heard his name, wondering where on earth he came from. When she can't place it, impatience gets the best of her and she laughs awkwardly before piercing you with an incredulous look.

"I'm sorry, is this—is he your boyfriend?"

Jesus, like it can't get any worse, now you're being confronted with this? What do you call Joel? A friend? A fuck buddy? How did you not have the foresight to anticipate having to explain your relationship all evening?

Then like magic, Joel swoops in and saves you.

"Nah, she just hired me for the evenin'."

He says the joke so smoothly that both you and Leah's husband chuckle. Leah herself manages a tight smile but you can sense she's not done.

"Right..." she says, then studies you once again. She can clock your discomfort and it's making her smug. "You moved on pretty fast," she adds casually before sipping from her glass. Your cheeks burn and your chest starts to tighten again, but Joel's steady hand on your back grounds you enough to remain in control.

"She's allowed to move on, hun," Leah's husband murmurs good-naturedly.

"No, yeah, of course!" Leah chirps with a fake smile. You force one of your own and take a long sip from your wine glass just for something to do. "It's just, you know... weird. Seeing you with someone else. I mean, you were with Liam for so long, it's hard to, like, wrap my head around it, I guess."

Hearing his name spoken out loud makes your throat close up. You cough a little into your hand and murmur your apologies while her husband subtly tries to rein her in with a stern look and a hand on her elbow.

"Yeah, well, it was—it was unexpected, r-really," you stammer, "we kind of just m-met and, you know... hit it off."

"Sure, isn't that how it always goes?" Leah says, tone overly sweet. Then there's a lull where you both awkwardly sip on your drinks and the men glance around the courtyard until the tension grows too thick for Leah to stand and she speaks up again.

"I'm sorry, I just gotta say something here," she begins with a smile. "Not for nothin', I'm happy you're doing good, but do you even give a shit about Liam?"

Your vision narrows.

"Hun—"

"No, I mean it," Leah continues, brushing off her husband's attempts at calming her. The smile falls. "Do you even care how he's doing? You remember he's in prison, right? You remember you're the one who put him there, right?"

"Alright, that's enough—" Joel suddenly says, voice harder than you've ever heard it. It stuns the group of you momentarily. "This is a happy occasion. Let's not start anythin' here, yeah? We're here to celebrate the happy couple, so why don't we just—"

"I agree with Joel," Leah's husband says while proverbial smoke pours from her ears. "We don't gotta do all this tonight."

"He's up for parole in three months, did you know that?" she sneers, ignoring both men. The fear that grips you now is impossible to ignore. It's hard to breathe, your chest is heaving and you can feel your knees starting to buckle. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"The whole family will be at his hearing," she continues, "we even asked your mom and dad, too. Would be nice if you showed up, maybe tried to undo some of the damage you caused—"

"Hey, would you listen to that," Joel says, "my favorite song. Darlin', let's go back in and dance."

Without waiting for an answer, Joel takes both your shoulders and turns you towards the ballroom, leaving his glass on the bench where Leah stands, fuming.

"Oh, Christ," you gasp as you force yourself to walk. Tears are beginning to blur your vision but you quickly blink them away. You do not cry. Especially over that man.

"It's alright. You're okay," he murmurs gently, leading you through the crowd. Fortunately, no one seems to notice or care about your state since you don't feel the heavy gaze of judgement as you walk. "Stay with me, honey. Don't let it get to you. Just focus on me."

"He-He's gonna get out, Joel," you whisper frantically. And although he has no clue what Liam did, he still blindly supports you.

"And you'll be fine. I promise. Ain't nothin' bad gonna happen."

"You d-don't understand—"

"Hey, look at me." Joel stops and turns you around so you're forced to face him. You must look crazy: watery eyes, panicked breaths, windswept hair, shaking like a leaf. But he sees past all of it. He takes your wine, sets it down on a table, pulls you close, and puts one of your arms around his ribs. You instinctively curl your hand up, cupping his shoulder, and you take a deep breath. His own falls to your waist and he starts to slowly sway to the music while plucking your other trembling hand from your side and resting it over his chest.

"Feel that?" he asks as he slowly and gently leads you around the dance floor. Your feet shuffle on autopilot and you nod when you feel the strong thump thump of his heart under your palm. "Focus on that. Feel how slow it is? Feel how I'm breathin'? Do what I do. Breathe when I breathe."

You lock eyes and inhale slowly, together. The ringing in your ears gets a little softer with each shared breath. The numbness in your fingers subsides the longer you stare into his eyes. Even though you know deep down Joel has no way of keeping the type of promises he made—that Liam can't hurt you, that everything will be okay—you believe him anyway. At least for tonight.

"Better?" he asks when the song ends. You nod but still keep your hand planted over his heart. He holds your hand there as long as you want, even after you drop your head forward to rest on his shoulder. He protectively tucks his chin downwards, stubbled cheek brushing carefully over the top of your head, and you close your eyes, giving in to the gentle way he holds you close, comforting you.

By the third song, you feel mostly like yourself again. You swallow thickly and lift your heavy head to look up at him. He smiles down at you when he sees the light has returned to your eyes. "There she is," he says quietly.

"Sorry I'm a little more complicated than you probably thought," you laugh dryly, but Joel just shakes his head.

"Ain't nothin' I can't handle."

You quirk an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Don't start lying, now," you tease. Joel just chuckles and tilts his head up to scan the crowd.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And just because you want to, you dance with him for one more song. He's so calming and strong, it makes you wonder how he grew to be this way. Is it just his nature, or was it something else that forced him to be the anchor in a storm?

"Joel?" you finally ask when the ballad ends. The lights are dimming lower and a fast song begins to pump from the speakers. Around you, guests are cheering and laughing, throwing their hands in the air and twirling around the dance floor, but you and Joel remain locked together, moving slow.

"Hm?" he hums. His thumb rubs soothingly over the back of your hand.

"Can we go back to the room?"

Joel grins. "Havin' too much fun down here, that it?" he jokes. And despite the heaviness of the evening, you manage a genuine laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so."

His hand slips from your waist and you step apart.

"Alright by me," he says. You scan the room, spotting table ten near the hallway that leads to the restrooms.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom first. Can you grab my purse from the table?"

Joel nods and you walk, hand in hand, towards the side of the room, only letting go when you absolutely had to. When you disappear down the corridor leading to the bathrooms, Joel finds his abandoned seat from earlier and sits down with a loud sigh. Your clutch is right where you left it, on the table next to your napkin. Joel stares at it, lost in thought now that he has a moment to himself.

What happened to you? What did this Liam do?

Obviously whatever it was must have been serious if he ended up in prison. For a moment, his eyelids flutter closed, and dark memories of his own flicker unwillingly through his mind.

"Hey, man."

Joel's eyes open when he hears Leah's husband's voice.

"Hey," Joel answers wearily, "sorry. I didn't catch your name."

"Zach," he says, "mind if I sit?"

Joel nods and watches Zach sink into a chair two seats over. He sighs and unbuttons his suit coat.

"Sorry about all that," he begins, "they got a history."

"Yeah, I figured," Joel replies, "she'll be alright."

There's a comfortable silence for a moment where both men watch the guests and the newlyweds dance away to some song Joel vaguely recognizes. There's a lot left unspoken. It hangs heavy in the air, neither one really sure how to tactfully approach the sensitive topic consuming the space until Zach finally clears his throat and props his elbows on the table, drawing Joel's attention.

"For the record," he says, "I can see it from both sides. Leah's loyal to her family so I gotta give her grace for it, but what Liam did was... it was messed up. And I think they all have a hard time believin' he could be like that, you know?"

Joel didn't know, but he nods anyway.

"They all practically grew up together," Zach continues, staring down blankly at the white linen tablecloth, "I'm the outsider. Always been. So maybe it's easier for me to see it, but I told Leah... there were signs. I—I want you to know, I tried. I really did. But—"

Then Leah's voice cut through the air, stopping the small crumbs of information Joel was gathering from her husband.

"I thought you said we weren't gonna talk about this for the rest of the night?" she snaps, walking up behind them. Both turn to look, easily reading the clear anger and annoyance across her face.

"I was just havin' a calm conversat—"

"I heard you. You're over here talking shit about my brother. My blood. To some—some guy that won't last the rest of the month!"

Leah's hands are waving wildly in the air as she rants while Joel does his best to stay out of it. He glances in the direction of the corridor but there's still no sign of you.

"I'm just tryin' to explain what's going on, lower your voice," Zach hisses under his breath as he stands to reach for his wife. She angrily swats his hand away.

"Well did you explain she's a fucking liar, then?" Leah argues. Her eyes are filled with blind rage. Her cheeks are pink and her bejeweled fingers are clutched tightly at her sides. "Because if you're telling him what happened, then you should start there." Leah suddenly turns her attention all on Joel, startling him. She points one perfectly manicured finger in his direction and his jaw clenches. "Your girlfriend ruined my brother's life, and if you're not careful, she'll do the same to you. She is a manipulator. She blows things way out of proportion and twists things around. All for attention!" Leah half laughs, half scoffs while Zach tries and fails to direct her away from the table. "She painted my brother out to be some kind of abusive, controlling psychopath all because she lost her job and frien—"

"That's enough," Joel says sharply while rising to his feet. His height makes Leah stumble backwards in surprise but she shakes it off.

"My brother did the same thing as you. He defended her—"

"Lemme tell you somethin'," Joel snaps, making her fall silent. The anger painted across his face and fire held behind his eyes makes them both pause. It's so distracting that none of them notice you quietly turning the corner from the bathroom, then stumbling to an abrupt halt when you see the scene playing out before you.

Gone is the smiley, relaxed, aloof jokester you're used to. The energy radiating off Joel now is cold and dark. You can't even blink, let alone move. This is a side of him you've never seen before and it has you paralyzed.

Joel shifts forward a few inches, planting his weight firmly on the floor. "I've seen the look in her eyes before and it's clear you ain't ever had the misfortune of bein' close with someone who's suffered from the hands of a monster, but I have. I know what it looks like." Your eyes widen with shock. Even from where you stand, you can feel the heat of his anger. "I know what it looks like," he repeats, softer now, "I've had to watch a woman rebuild her life while always lookin' over her shoulder. I've seen the fear, the terror, more times than I can count." Joel takes a deep breath and even though his voice isn't any louder than normal, the tone has the three of you hanging on his every word. "I promise you, whatever your brother did was real. 'Cause ain't no way a woman can fake the type'a pain 'n dread she lives with. And so help me, if I ever see you or that motherfucker cause her that kinda grief, I ain't gonna stand by and do nothin' this time. I—"

"Joel!"

He spins around when he hears the sharp crack in your voice. Instantly, his face melts from anger back to the softness you're used to.

"Hey," he whispers. Then he swallows tightly, blinks a few times, and seems to collect his emotions. You can practically see him gathering up every shred of anger and resentment and packing it away into a little box, locking it up, and shoving it back into a corner. "S-sorry, honey. I didn't—"

"Let's go."

Your tone is flat and indecipherable. It has Joel hanging his head, deflated, before reaching for your purse and handing it to you. You take it and walk between both parties without a word, weaving through the drunken crowd and skipping your well wishes for Carly and Jim in favor of fleeing to the hotel lobby.

The click of your heels echo loudly across the empty vestibule as you charge towards the elevators. You have tunnel vision, the only target in sight is the escape to your room where you can get some desperately needed privacy.

Joel joins you just after you jab the call button. You feel him by your side, strong and steady, but he doesn't say a word and neither do you. The air is stifling until the doors finally slide open and you step in.

He thinks there may be a moment to explain himself once you're inside the safety of the elevator, but then you hear a stranger's voice ring out, asking for you to hold it, so you do. It's an older couple who step inside looking like they just had dinner or drinks at the restaurant attached to the hotel. They murmur their thanks and tap floor seven, leaving the four of you to stand in silence as the car crawls painstakingly slow past each floor.

Every passing moment feels like an eternity. Joel's hands fidget anxiously at his sides and his mind races as he tries to come up with something to say that will explain how and why he overstepped so badly, but he's not sure what you want to hear. Should he tell you how sick it makes him feel? How fucked up it has him to think and wonder about what you went through? That some part of him wants to protect you the way he couldn't before, back when the victim was different but the fear was the same?

He wants to, but you're so guarded that he's afraid it'll push you away. But what if he already did? What if his outburst frightened you and he'll never hear from you again after tonight? The thought makes his heart drop.

When the doors open, he barely gets a glance at your face before you hurry out into the air conditioned hallway. He thinks the older couple bids them goodnight, but he can't be sure because he's rushing to keep in step with you.

"Listen—"

A housekeeper exits a room with her cleaning cart, stopping the excuse right in its tracks. You're giving him nothing to work with, absolutely no inkling as to how pissed or upset you might be, and it's beginning to freak him out.

After what feels like miles, you finally approach your room. Joel watches as you fish around for the key, tap it against the lock, and push the door open. You're moving as if someone's chasing you and it has his mind reeling with regret.

The light flicks on. Your purse gets tossed haphazardly to the floor. Joel is woefully slipping off his shoes, entirely unaware until his back hits the door from the force of your shove. He blinks in shock and hardly has the time to register the look on your face before your mouth is pressed firmly over his with a moan.

Stunned, Joel forgets to respond. His hands are still raised halfway up, hovering in the air as you claw and tug at his shirt, untucking it from his slacks before you remember his jacket. Trembling with adrenaline, you shove the coat past his shoulders. He handles the rest when his brain finally catches up and he shakes his arms loose. It collapses softly to the floor and then his fingers curl around your shoulders. He manages to break the spell and gently pull you back so he can search your face.

Your ragged, shallow breaths fill the space as you stare at one another, just inches apart. Your heavy gaze wildly darts back and forth, still panting for air, before you whisper his name like a question.

"You ain't mad?" he finally asks.

"Mad?" you repeat with a confused frown.

"Yeah. What I said down there, I thought—"

"No," you breathe, gently clutching the sides of his face with both hands, "no, not mad. I'm... grateful."

But Joel shakes his head. "I lost my cool. Wasn't my place to—to say what I said. It just sorta... I don't know. Couldn't stop myself, I guess." He carefully tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you stare up at him, all wide eyed. "Brought some of my own shit into it, too. Got the best of me, it wasn't right."

"I don't care." You stretch up on your tiptoes so you can plant small kisses along his prickly jaw. "You said all the things I couldn't. You stood up for me without even knowing what happened." Your mouth meets his and you hover there a moment, exchanging shared breaths in the quiet of the hotel room. "You have no idea... no idea what—"

Joel hears your voice get tight and he releases his grip on your shoulders. He pulls you in by the waist and presses his mouth firmly over yours.

You don't need to say it. He knows.

Your nails drag down softly over his cheeks as he walks you backwards into the room. Then your hands drop. The way you pull at his clothes is messy and frantic, like you're desperate to feel his skin against yours, like you need it. You nearly trip over your own heels trying to hurry to the bed, but before you can fall back, Joel stops you.

"Nuh-uh," he tells you, tightening one strong arm around your waist, "you said I could take this off you." His other hand fists the delicate fabric of your dress, reminding you of your earlier promise, and who are you to deny him when his eyes look so bright and eager?

You spread your arms out at your sides. "I'm all yours," you grin, then giggle when he pretends to stumble backwards and faint.

"Gonna kill me, talkin' like that," he warns after moving closer again. Gentle fingers slip both thin straps down your shoulders and you wiggle out of them. One hand sneaks around to the back of your dress and finds your zipper. He starts to pull it down slowly, all with a devilish grin because with every inch your dress loosens, the more cleavage gets exposed, and he seems to really enjoy taking his time with it.

You circle your arms around his neck, steadily holding his gaze. "I've been known to say much worse than that."

Joel groans, eyes flickering down to your chest briefly when the zipper along your back opens all the way, leaving the front of the dress just barely covering your breasts. "Don't I know it, dirty fuckin' girl," he growls, then suddenly tugs harshly on the back of your dress. You gasp when your chest is exposed to the icy air conditioned room, but before you have a chance to even blink, Joel is bending down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue over your chilled skin makes you shiver in his hold. Your head tips back and eyes slide shut as he mouths at your breast, laving his tongue across your nipple until it's a tight peak, then he moves to the other one. Your hands get lost in his hair while he works, encouraging him to keep going with gentle scrapes of your nails against his scalp.

To your dismay, he releases your breast with a satisfied hum, leaving your aching nipples hard and stiff as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Slowly, he begins to peel down your dress, watching with bated breath as more and more of your body gets revealed to him. Only when your dress is left in a pathetic little pile around your feet do you squirm from the heaviness of his gaze.

"Jesus," he whispers to himself. His fingers skim your ankle, right above where the strap of your heel is still buckled. He slowly drags his fingertips up the back of your leg, his gaze following at the same pace. Goosebumps flash across your skin from anticipation but you manage to stay still until he reaches the band of your panties.

They match the color of your dress. The material is smooth and barely there. It was a practical choice so they couldn't be seen through your dress, but now that you're standing here in just your underwear and heels, they feel so much sexier than before.

The damp patch of arousal that's leaking through doesn't go unnoticed. Joel locks in on it and he inches closer, breathing heavier until his lips land on your hip with a moan. Thick fingers curl around the elastic and slowly tug the scrap of material down your legs until they uselessly sit on the pressed carpet, alongside your dress.

He hovers there a minute. Leaving you entirely exposed with him on his knees and his mouth inches away from your pussy, he lets you take a moment. There's no pressure but he's letting the opportunity hang in the air, giving you the chance to ask for it or nudge him between your legs. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest. You feel the heat of his breath, you feel the press of his fingers against the softness of your hips, and he waits. He leaves a few gentle kisses against your stomach while you wrestle with the unspoken—do you let him use his mouth? Do you lay back and just take without any shame?

You almost let him, simply because he looks so fucking gorgeous on his knees like this, satin tie loose around his neck, dress shirt messy and disheveled, just like his hair. But you just can't. You're not ready. Instead, you murmur something softly about needing to feel him and begging him to stand. He does without hesitation and kisses you deeply with both hands clutching your face.

You don't feel an ounce of guilt because you finally are starting to believe all the things he's said to you over the last few weeks—he wants you to be comfortable first.

"Take your clothes off," you murmur against his lips. Your hands are working on his belt but you're getting very little help here and your patience is growing thin.

"So fuckin'—bossy," he rasps before finally releasing your face so he can work on the buttons of his shirt. You yank the belt from his waist and throw it on the floor.

"You said you'd repay me with your body," you remind him, "I'm just looking to collect."

Joel's hands pause on his tie. "Is this some kinda roleplay thing? 'Cause for the record, I'm into it."

You roll your eyes and start to unbutton his pants. "This is the second time in a week you've mentioned roleplay, I got the hint."

"Oh, like you didn't get all hot over me with a tool belt." His pants fall to his feet right as he's shrugging off his shirt.

"That's your job, it's not roleplay." Then your gaze snags on the sight of his bare, stiff cock aching for attention and warmth spreads between your hips.

"Didn't stop you from lookin' at me like some bored, lonely housewife who hired a handyman to fix her bed before askin' him to rail her—"

"You've put a lot of thought into these fantasies," you say, dragging your eyes up and cutting him off. Joel lifts his undershirt over his head with a grin.

"What else'm I supposed to do all day at work? Listen to those knuckleheads talk 'bout their favorite shitty bands?"

You're in the middle of kicking off your heels when you pause and look up at him, blinking softly.

"You think about me... at work?"

Joel snorts and slides his palms around your waist. "'Course I do, honey. Fuckin'—look at you." The bashful smile on your face is undeniable as you melt into his touch. "Think 'bout you more than I probably should. Gonna lose a finger one'a these days."

"Mm, just make sure it's not these fingers," you reach behind you and grab the first two fingers and thumb on his right hand, "they're my favorite."

A slow, devious smile stretches across Joel's face.

"Oh, yeah?"

You bite your lip and nod, then gasp when one of those fingers glides slowly through your slit. Your thighs tense when he does it again, only this time the tip of his finger prods gently at your opening, causing your knees to wobble. Joel feels it and makes a soft noise under his breath.

"Need me, huh?" he murmurs. Your lips part and you tip your head up and down, fingers grabbing onto his biceps for support while he continues to pet agonizingly slow at your entrance. "Yeah, I can tell, honey. I'll give you what you need. In fact—"

Joel removes his hand from between your legs and you bite back a whine, but then he's stepping away from you entirely so he can fall backwards onto the bed with a low oof.

"C'mere," he says, curling two fingers forward with a sexy half smirk. Your heart flips a little and you quickly do as he says, dipping low to crawl on your hands and knees up the length of his long, naked body. You pause at his waist and glance down to admire his hard, thick cock resting heavy against his stomach. When it twitches under your gaze, you hum to yourself, then quickly lean down to lick a slow line up the underside of his erection. Joel's breath catches in his throat just when his fingers slide through your hair, curling tightly around the strands but not harsh enough to hurt you.

"Fuck," he grumbles when you wrap your lips around his leaking tip. Your tongue laps gently there, soaking up the salty taste with your eyes closed. When you hum a little, his body trembles and the fist in your hair tightens.

"Careful," he warns. Your eyes flutter open and you look up at him through your lashes, mouth still wrapped around his cock. You can see his throat bob and it gives you a burst of confidence. Slowly, you release him from your mouth, but you don't look away. You arch your back so your ass is up in the air and you tilt your head to the side.

"Or what?" you murmur with your lips hovering right where he wants you the most. His jaw clenches and he exhales slowly through his nose before responding.

"Or I'm gonna come all over that pretty face of yours."

A wide smile tugs at your cheeks.

"That's a very weak threat."

Joel groans and grabs you by the shoulders before you can lower yourself back down.

"This ain't about me," he reminds you after tugging your body up so your thighs are braced on either side of his hips. Your palms flatten against his chest for leverage and you giggle down at him.

"What if I want to make it about you?" you grin.

"'Nother time," he says without a trace of humor in his voice, "Want—" Joel takes a handful of your ass and gives it a firm shake before lightly smacking it, "—want you to take what you need. Fuckin'—use me, baby."

You open your mouth to protest but before you can speak, he's sliding you off to the side so he can stand. He hurries to fish out a condom from the same place he always keeps them in his wallet and you watch him roll it on while you think over what he said.

"Use you?" you repeat when he returns. He falls back onto the bed with a nod, then his hands find your hips again. You help him this time, tossing a leg over him and getting comfortable in his lap.

"Yeah. Just—do what you want. Wanna watch you just... lose yourself on me, okay?"

You gently roll your hips over his cock while you think.

"That sounds a little selfish," you start to say, then it dawns on you.

"Ain't selfish. I get to watch you bounce on it til you can't see straight, how's that selfish?" he says easily, but you've already figured it out. That's what he wants. He wants you to be selfish. Hell, maybe he also likes being told what to do. He's said as much before. But you know tonight he wants you to feel comfortable enough with him to let your walls down, he's just framing it in a different way.

And this... this you most certainly can do.

"Okay," you breathe, shifting your hips forward. Reaching down, you line him up at your entrance. The blunt, firm pressure there already sends a shiver down your spine. Then you begin to sink down, slow, savoring the stretch until your jaw drops and your eyelids slide shut.

You can feel the tension in his hands. He wants to yank you down, bury himself inside you as deep as he can, but he lets you take your time.

"Like this?" you whisper, still working yourself open on his cock.

"Yeah—yes," he grunts. Then he curses when you stop about halfway down and begin to lift your hips back up. Your head tips back and a weak moan slips out when you start to sit, only to stop halfway again.

"You like that?" Joel asks, voice sounding pained. You hum and nod but keep your eyes closed.

"Feels good," you mumble, "like how it feels at first. Like—like it hurts, but in a good way."

"What else?" he rasps. You lower yourself a little more and your brows pinch together at the temporary sting.

"Fuck—like h-how... how heavy you feel. Inside."

He groans in response and slides his hands up your sides. "You're so soft," he says quietly, "'n warm. So pretty, too. So, so pretty."

The praise makes you whimper as you rise back up, leaving just the tip before slowly taking him back inside, only this time, you don't stop. You take him all, every aching inch, until he's pressing up against a spot that makes fire run hot in your veins.

"I like that," you murmur. Then your eyes finally open, allowing Joel to see the heat of your gaze.

"Like what?" he asks. You roll your hips slowly, just barely lifting up so your clit can drag across the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. "Tell me, darlin'. I wanna know what you like."

"Like w-when you—when you... say I'm pretty."

"You are pretty."

"Like when yo-you say I'm good."

"Oh, sweetheart, you are good," he moans. It hurts a little to have your heart so open like this, to admit things that make you feel shame. What a conceited person you must be to chase praise like this, but it's only because you spent so many years hardly hearing anything nice at all. Is it really so bad if you like hearing a compliment every now and again? Is that such a crime?

No, of course not. So why bother feeling ashamed for it?

Suddenly, you understand. You see what he's been trying to do, and something just... clicks.

"I like how much you w-want me," you continue to babble. You move with a little more purpose now, cunt sliding slick and tight up and down his shaft with each roll of your hips. "Like how you—you don't hide it. You're—shit—just so... so..."

"So what?" Joel urges before holding his breath. Delirium has made you loose lipped, or maybe it's just a burst of bravery from being in charge right now, but either way, he loves it. Every time you offer a glimmer of insight into what's going on in that busy head of yours, he eagerly gobbles it up.

"—so good to me," you finish.

It's music to his ears.

Joel surges upwards, thumbs brushing delicately under your breasts. He nips at your collarbone with a smile, far too consumed with what you just said to remember the rules until your fingers wrap around his wrists and you pin him back into the mattress. He lands with a soft grunt and looks up at you with surprise.

"I thought I was in charge?" you smirk. His fingers flex in your grip, chasing the ghost of your soft skin, when a slow smile stretches across his face.

"You're right," he says breathlessly, "you're right. Keep—keep goin'. Doin' so good."

"Tell me wha—what you like," you pant with your fingers still pressing his arms into the mattress. You can feel him throb every time you thrust down and it takes all your power not to moan over his answer.

"Like when you let me be good to you," he responds instantly. "You deserve that, y'know. Someone w-who's good t'you."

You continue to rock back and forth, humming softly under your breath. The way your clit drags across his lower belly is stoking a fire between your legs with each pass. It can't be doing much for him but you wouldn't know it based on the sounds he's making underneath you.

"You can be honest," you tell him, "you don't have—have to—"

"I am," he groans. You huff and your fingers dig into his wrists a little harder when you start to drop down on his cock with short little strokes. "I—fuck... I am. I like wh-when you're like this. Like—fuckin'—holdin' me down like this." His fingers flex but he hasn't tried to pull out of your grasp yet. "Like when you're b-bossy, too. Like that smart fuckin'—ohhh..."

His eyes roll back when you start to bounce faster in his lap and you grin.

"You like being submissive?" you ask softly after leaning down to purr in his ear. He shudders under you, you can feel it in your thighs.

"Not always," he admits truthfully, "but today—y-yeah. Yes."

You curse before feverishly finding his mouth and pressing yours against it to muffle your moans. Fuck, you like that for some reason. It's not something you thought you'd be into but it's... it's really working for you right now.

"Do you know what else I like?" you whisper seductively against his lips. Little puffs of air fan across your face every time your hips drop. Joel's mouth remains open, eyes closed in bliss, and he just nods. "I like how hard you get for me—" you tell him, and his eyebrows furrow just the slightest bit, "—I like how you can't keep your hands to yourself."

"Can't help it," he gasps with his eyes still closed. His neck is growing flush now and you have the sudden urge to taste it, so you dip your chin down and trace your tongue along the prominent vein along the left side. Your cunt pulses around him as you pick up the pace, squeezing and gripping him perfectly every time you bounce. A strangled groan gets caught in his throat so you bear down on him even harder.

"F-Fuck, honey—" he stammers. Your nipples graze against his bare chest every time you move and for the first time, you feel him try to lift his arms. "Lem—lemme touch you. Please, l-lemme—"

Sweat collects behind your knees. Your thighs burn. Your brain buzzes with electrifying need. Joel's arms flinch again and you push them deeper into the mattress.

"Not yet," you gasp, and he whines behind clenched teeth. You ache for his touch but you like hearing him beg more.

You shift so his cock drags along a spot that makes you see stars. Soft noises from your throat and ragged breaths from his begin to mingle with the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin. It's such a power trip, being with him like this. It's liberating in a way you never thought possible and building an intense pressure deep between your legs.

"O-Oh, god, Joel—" Your voice breaks over your plea as heat slowly begins to lick up your spine. Your fingers tighten around his wrists as you glide effortlessly on his cock, chasing your own release while Joel struggles to keep a clear head.

"I can—can feel it," he groans, and when he finally opens his eyes, you can see the intensity he's been hiding. He looks crazed: hairline damp, neck red, jaw clenched tight, and a fire behind his eyes that reminds you how strong he is, that he could easily flip you over and fuck you senseless, but he's yielding to you. Not just because he wants you to have some control back after a shitty night, but because he gets off on it, too.

"I-I—" you stammer before licking your lips and trying again, "I think I'm gonna—shit, Joel, I'm gonna c-come—"

"Please," he rasps, "let go. Let—let go, baby, I fuckin'—need it—"

Desperate sounds get trapped in your throat, behind clenched teeth as you grind down on him. Short, disjointed breaths curled around words of encouragement come from Joel's mouth, pushing you higher and higher every time he says you're pretty or perfect or sweet or soft.

There's a moment where your hips stutter and your cunt clenches down when Joel has to bite down hard on his lip to control himself, and then some semblance of his name rips from your mouth and you come, gushing around him as your whole body convulses. His jaw tightens and his vision narrows, so fucking close to coming himself, but holding on by a thread. He watches as your back arches and your head tips backwards with relief, moaning a mixture of his name and curses until your hips eventually slow.

When your head rolls tiredly forward and your eyes crack open, you see the pained look on Joel's face.

"Did—did you—"

Your throat is raw. You feel like jelly yet somehow you're still holding onto his wrists.

"You d-didn't tell m-me to—" he whispers, then you feel his cock pulse inside you, begging for release.

Electricity shoots down your spine.

"Fuck," you murmur, then bring his hands up to cup your breasts. Instantly, his fingers curl and squeeze them, just like they've been aching to. His thumbs graze your soft skin before gliding over your sensitive nipples and you find your hips rocking in his lap once again. "Come for me," you finally say, "come for me, Joel, please, can you—"

He throws his head back into a pillow with a snarl and then he's coming, muscles going rigid as you gently ride him, all the while sliding your palms up and down his strong arms, wide chest, and broad shoulders. His thick cock continually spasms inside you, an endless release of pleasure that wrings him dry and depleted.

"Christ—" he gasps, his hands falling limply to your thighs. When his eyelids flutter shut, you bend to rest your upper body across his heaving chest until you catch your breath. His arms wrap around you and your chin tilts up to nuzzle against his sticky neck. His pulse flickers fast and steady in his throat, you can feel it against the tip of your nose.

You're a mess. You're covered in sweat, you're exhausted, you can hardly keep your eyes open, but you try your damndest because this feeling is too good—this feeling he's given you, this warmth and adoration and understanding, it's what you've always craved, and you don't want to sleep through it when it's the most heightened. You want to savor the feeling of his arms around you, of his chest lifting you up and down, of the soft strokes of his fingers down your spine.

"Did so good," he eventually whispers, lips brushing your forehead. "How'd that feel? Did you like that?"

You hum and burrow deeper into the crook of his neck. "Yeah," you murmur as your fingers drift mindlessly over his ribs.

"Enough to wanna do it again?"

One eye pops open. "...Now?"

He laughs, chest jolting under your cheek. "No. Jesus. I mean, another time."

"Uh—" It's hard to think. You're still in your post orgasm haze. Everything is still rosy and warm and a little sluggish. "—Yeah, but..."

The fingers dancing along your spine pause.

"What?"

You sigh and gently kiss his throat. "Not every time. Maybe just... sometimes."

"No, 'course not," he assures you, "wouldn't exactly work with my secretary and CEO fantasy."

You frown before tilting your chin up. "Women can be CEOs."

"Is this you agreein' to roleplay?" he asks with a lopsided grin.

"How'd I know this subject wasn't over?"

Joel barks a laugh and pulls his arms tighter around you. "Alright, alright. No pressure. Think on it."

His laughter subsides and his fingers brushing over your back resumes. You let the comfortable silence fill the space and your mind wanders until words that have been begging to be spoken press too heavy on your tongue.

"Joel?"

"Hm?"

You swallow tightly and start to draw circles over his skin with your fingertip. "How would... okay, so—I've been thinking, and..."

Joel waits patiently under you as you stare at your hand making patterns over his chest.

"This is so embarrassing," you grumble, "nevermind."

"No, c'mon," he grins, "say it."

You sigh heavily and roll your eyes at yourself.

"Would you be cool with me calling you my boyfriend?"

The words tumble out fast before you have a chance to make it worse, but your cheeks still burn anyway.

"Oh, shit," Joel chuckles, "am I gettin' a promotion?"

You close your eyes and giggle. "Yeah. You could call it that, sure."

"Then I accept," he says, lifting his arm so he can offer you his hand. You stare at it a moment before it clicks and you shake it.

"It doesn't come with a raise," you warn him, "title only."

"S'alright. Ain't in it for the money." He drops your hand so he can happily resume rubbing your back with a proud grin stretched across his face.

"What are you in it for?"

With a grunt, Joel suddenly rolls you onto your back. You blink up stupidly at him as you try to adjust to the sudden shift, but he just grins down at you before thrusting his hips forward. You gasp at the not so subtle reminder of his cock still buried deep between your legs.

"The perks, obviously."

You smack his shoulder. "Gross," you mumble before tugging him down by the back of the neck for a kiss. Before he has a chance to slip his tongue past your lips, you pull back, but only enough to press your forehead to his with a smile.

"Told you I'd wear you down," he says, noses nudging together gently.

"Yeah, yeah," you relent. You play with the hairs at the base of his neck for a minute while Joel softly leaves a trail of kisses down your jaw. "Sorry it took me a while," you say, "it's just... obviously, I don't have a good track record..."

"You been burned," Joel mumbles against your throat, "I get it."

"Yeah," you sigh, relaxing under him and closing your eyes. "And... I want to tell you about it. One day."

Joel freezes but doesn't lift his head. Just takes a second to process your words before he resumes leaving marks along the column of your throat.

"I'm ready whenever you are, honey."

You breathe deep and smile because for once, no panic is filling your chest and squeezing your throat. No intrusive thoughts are clouding your mind, because you're actually beginning to believe that maybe things really can be this simple. You were just looking in all the wrong places before.

***

taglist:

@mystickittytaco @jrjrjrheheheh @anon3336553 @prettylovley @vickie5446

@wayward-dreamer @ifall4dilfs @pedrofan @untamedheart81 @soulfireflower-blog

@pengbluevoke @lemonsfromikea @perpetualharpyresonance @lotusbxtch @janescherries

@inspira75 @havensucks @ashleyfilm @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack @eh-nothanks

@marty-mccunt @canonisoptional @iwas19 @vanderlindebae @craeyeola

@morganlolitta @willinglypsychicspark @ddiana111 @goodvibesonly421 @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt

@bewitched-tales @theskyis-opalite @margauxdclsblog @westgasper @isabellaboo2025

@the-heart-is-an-organ-of-fire @w-w-a-n-d-r-l-u-s-t-t @m-o-r-g-s @whattheflipsiesss @misstokyo7love

@furiousprincesskingdom @reedispunk @lotusbxtch @okiegal68 @jaxmom66

@kaileahotchner @millersland @mournemee @g0ldenstarr @pedroncigarettes

@sunnytuliptime @styleispunk

[schmeltastic]

Found this gem deep in my files lol

[dreamedaboutitinthedark]

spectacular

[callmecath1]

Amazing

[foxtrology]

cruel world (3)

ted garcia x reader

velvet horseshoe series | ao3 link

warnings: explicit sexual content, age gap relationship, sex work (stripper reader), power imbalance, corruption and abuse of power. reader discretion is advised!!!

word count: 16k

⸻

The morning sun cuts through the thin curtains of your house like it owns the place, spilling gold across the walls, across the floor, across the bed where you’re already awake and pretending not to be.

Outside, Eddington sits quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels fake, like the town’s holding its breath and waiting for something to break.

Inside, it’s warm. Way too warm. Ted’s arm is wrapped around you, heavy and solid, his palm spread flat against your stomach like he fell asleep holding on and never let go. His chest is pressed to your back, breath slow, steady, real in a way that makes your throat tighten if you let yourself think about it too long.

He got here early. He always does.Slips in before sunrise, before anyone can see, before he has to be the version of himself that belongs to everyone else. No knocking. No warning. Just the quiet shift of weight in your bed, the feel of him finding you in the dark like it’s instinct. Like it’s habit. Like you are.

Your eyes stay open. You can see the envelope in your head without turning your head toward the kitchen. You know exactly where it is. You know exactly what’s inside it. You swallow hard. Don’t fucking think about it. Not right now.

Behind you, he stirs. It’s slow, just a shift of muscle, a deeper breath, his hand dragging lazily over your stomach like he’s waking up through touch instead of thought. His fingers flex once, then settle, his thumb brushing along your side like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Morning,” he mutters, voice wrecked from sleep.

You hum back, soft and automatic. His mouth finds your shoulder, not rushed, not demanding... just warm, slow, familiar. It lingers, like he’s reminding himself you’re still here.

“You’re already awake,” he says, quieter.

“Just woke up,” you answer. Lie.

His hand slides down your side, fingers tracing the curve of your hip. You feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your ass already, insistent even in the lazy haze of waking.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, half under his breath.

You turn slowly in his arms, careful, like the moment might break if you move too fast. His eyes meet yours— soft and unguarded in a way that doesn’t exist anywhere else.

For a second, it almost feels normal. That’s what makes it so fucking dangerous. He's dressed only in his boxers, his head dusted with salt and pepper hair, soft muscles toned from years of ranch work before politics took over. At forty-eight, he's got that mature strength, the kind that makes you feel small and cherished all at once.

“Ted,” you say, quieter than you meant to.

Your hand slides down his chest, feeling the heat of him, the steady rhythm under your palm. He exhales at that, something in him easing like he didn’t realize how tight he was holding himself together.

“Don’t start,” he mutters, thumb brushing your cheek. “I’ve got a meeting in an hour.”

You nod like you give a shit about that. Like the world outside this bed isn’t already waiting to tear everything apart.

His mouth hits yours, slow at first, then deeper, his hand coming up to the back of your neck like he needs to keep you right there. He kisses you like he’s not leaving in an hour. Like there’s nothing waiting for him outside this room.

“Jesus,” he breathes against your mouth. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your chest tightens. If he knew—if he had any idea what’s sitting on your counter—he wouldn’t sound like that. But he doesn’t. So you let yourself fall into it.

Ted's an astonishing lover, the kind who reads your body like a map he's memorized, pushing you to edges you didn't know existed. As the kiss deepens, his hand cups your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch. You arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. 

You don’t stop him. You don’t think. Because this part is easy. This part doesn’t ask questions you don’t want to answer.

"That's my girl," he says against your mouth, his voice dropping to that loving rumble. "So responsive for me. I swear, you make me feel like a kid again, all excited and stupid in love."

He rolls you onto your back, settling between your legs, his weight pressing you into the mattress. The age difference hits you once again... his solid frame over your lithe one, his experience guiding every move while your body responds with eager fire.

You shut your eyes as he touches you—slow, deliberate, like he’s dragging it out on purpose. Your body reacts immediately, hips shifting, chasing the pressure without thinking about it.

“Easy,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ve got you. Never gonna lose you.”

The words hit harder than they should. You wrap your legs around him anyway. Pull him closer. Let him believe it.

His mouth trails down your neck, sucking at the skin, not careful enough, leaving marks that could raise questions in this gossip hungry town.

"I hate leaving you," he confesses, nipping at your collarbone. "Wish I could stay buried inside you all day, just like this."

You feel his cock twitch against your thigh, thick and ready, and your core aches in response. 

Ted's hands roam lower, parting your thighs with firm insistence. He looks up at you, eyes sparkling with that cute affection.

"You're so perfect, you know that? My sweet, sexy girl. Gonna make you feel so good before I go," His fingers slide between your folds, finding you already wet for him. He groans, circling your clit with just the right pressure. "Fuck, you're soaked. All for me, huh? That's what I love about you, always ready, always wanting your old man."

You gasp as he dips a finger inside, then two, curling them to hit that spot that makes your toes curl.

“You feel—” he cuts himself off with a sharp breath. “Fuck.”

The desert heat seeps into the room, making your skin slick, but it's nothing compared to the fire he's stoking. He pumps his fingers slowly at first, building the tension, his thumb still working your clit.

"Look at you, taking my fingers like a champ," he praises, his tone loving and playful. "Bet you can't wait for my cock, can you, baby? Gonna fill you up so full you'll feel me all day."

The roughness starts to creep in as his pace quickens, his free hand pinning your wrist above your head. He's strong, unyielding, but his eyes stay soft, locked on yours. Your hand tightens on him, grounding yourself in something real—his skin, his weight, the way he whispers your name like it actually means something.

Not the fucking envelope or what's in it. Just this.

"I love you like this... wild and mine." He leans down to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while his fingers thrust deeper, faster. Your hips buck against his hand, chasing the building pleasure, and he smiles against your skin. "That's it, ride my hand. Show me how much you need it."

By the time he withdraws his fingers, you're trembling, on the edge but not quite there—he knows your body too well, pulling back just to heighten the ache.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, voice rough.

You don’t answer. He shifts up, shoving his boxers down to free his cock. It's thick, veined, the head already glistening with precum, and at his age, he stays hard like he's got endless stamina just for you.

"Gonna fuck you now, sweetheart," he says, positioning himself at your entrance. “Don’t hold back.” 

You don’t. With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside you, stretching your pussy around his girth. You cry out, the fullness overwhelming, and he pauses, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours.

"Shh, I've got you," he whispers cutely, kissing your nose. "My beautiful girl, so tight for me. Love how you squeeze my cock like you never want me to leave."

Then he starts moving, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, setting a rhythm that's intense from the start. His hips snap against yours, the bed creaking under the force, but his words stay loving.

"Fuck, you feel amazing. You're my everything, you know? This pussy was made for me."

Each thrust is rough, his cock hitting deep, brushing your cervix with every plunge. Sweat beads on his brow, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, but he checks in with a soft, "Too much, baby? Tell me if it's too rough—I just can't hold back with you."

You shake your head, urging him on, and he grins that boyish smile that contrasts his forceful pace.

"Good girl. Gonna make you cum so hard." He angles his hips, grinding against your clit with every inward stroke, the friction building that coil in your belly tighter.

The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping skin, your wetness coating him, easing the way for his relentless pounding. Ted's breath comes in heavy pants, but he doesn't falter, driving into you like he needs to imprint himself before the world pulls him away.

He flips you suddenly, pulling out just long enough to maneuver you onto your hands and knees.

"Ass up for me, baby," he commands gently, his hand stroking your back.

You comply, and he slams back in from behind, the new angle letting him go even deeper. His palm comes down on your ass cheek, hard enough to sting and send sparks through you.

"God, this view," he groans, thrusting harder. "Your pretty pussy taking my cock so well. I love you, you hear me? Love every inch of you."

The roughness intensifies, he grips your hair, pulling your head back slightly to arch your spine, his other hand reaching around to rub your clit in fast circles.

You're moaning loudly now, the pleasure and pain mix pushing you toward the brink.

"That's my baby, scream for me. Let it out— no one's gonna hear but me."

His cock pistons in and out, the head dragging along your walls, hitting every sensitive spot. The desert morning heat makes your bodies slick, sliding together effortlessly despite the ferocity.

Ted's loving talk keeps flowing, lovingly amid the intensity. "You're doing so good, sweetheart. Squeezing me just right. Gonna make me cum inside you, fill my girl up."

He spanks you again, lighter this time, then soothes the skin with a kiss to your shoulder as he leans over you. The position lets him wrap an arm around your waist, holding you close even as he fucks you raw. Your orgasm crashes over you first, waves of ecstasy ripping through your body, your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

"Yes, cum for me, baby! That's i-it—my perfect love." He doesn't stop, riding through your spasms, prolonging the high until you're shaking.

Only then does he let go, thrusting erratically as he buries himself deep one last time.

"Fuck, here it comes. Take it all, sweet thing," His cock pulses, hot cum flooding your pussy, marking you as his in the most intimate way. He groans your praises through it, "Love you so much, filling you up... you're mine."

He collapses over you gently, both of you panting in the aftermath. Ted pulls out slowly, a mix of your releases trickling down your thigh, but he turns you to face him, cradling your face in his hands.

"Hey, baby," he says softly, kissing your forehead. "You okay? Was that good for my girl?" His eyes are full of that tender affection, the roughness giving way to care.

You nod, spent and glowing, and he smiles, pulling you into his chest. But reality intrudes too soon. He glances at the clock—9:15. The spell snaps.

"Shit."

He checks the clock again, already pulling away, already putting himself back together piece by piece.

“I’ve gotta go,” he mutters. “Meeting’s in forty five.”

You watch him from the bed, the warmth already fading.

“Your computer still fucked?” you ask.

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Piece of shit froze twice yesterday.”

“I’ll come by later,” you say. “Fix it.”

He looks at you—really looks this time. Something shifts. Something searching.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He nods once. “Good.”

He grabs his jacket, steps into his shoes, hesitates just long enough to come back. This kiss is different. Slower. Deeper. Like he knows something’s off, even if he can’t name it.

“Be careful,” he murmurs.

Your chest tightens.

“You too.”

He lingers. Then he’s gone. The door shuts. And just like that, it’s quiet again. Wrong quiet.

You sit there for a long moment before moving. mThen you get up. Walk into the kitchen. And see the envelope is still there. Waiting.

You stand there for a long time. Not moving. Not breathing right. Just staring at it. It sits exactly where you left it—on the counter, crooked at the corner like it shifted when you dropped it there, like it knows you’ve been trying not to look at it.

Like it’s patient. Like it can wait you out. Your body still feels like him. Ted. That’s the worst part.

His warmth hasn’t left yet. It clings to your skin, settles into your muscles, lives in the quiet ache between your legs, in the faint marks blooming along your neck and collarbone. You can still hear his voice if you let yourself... low, rough, saying things that sounded too much like truth to be just heat.

You’re gonna ruin me.

You press your lips together.

“Bullshit,” you mutter, but it comes out thin.

Because you didn’t tell him. Didn't tell him about the danger imposing on him and his career. You let him touch you, kiss you, hold you like nothing was wrong... like there wasn’t a loaded gun sitting ten feet away on your kitchen counter. You chose not to tell him. And that choice sits heavy in your chest now, something sharp and unfamiliar. Not guilt. Not exactly. Something worse. Care.

You laugh once, under your breath. It sounds wrong in the empty house. Of course that’s what this is. Of course.

You didn’t tell him because you didn’t want to watch his face change. Didn’t want to see that moment where everything in him goes hard and cold and dangerous. Didn’t want him storming down to that station, badge-less but still powerful enough to ruin himself trying to protect you.

You didn’t tell him because you know him. And because somewhere along the way—quiet, stupid, irreversible—you started to matter to him. And he started to matter to you. Deeply. Too deeply.

Your fingers curl against the counter.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

The word lands heavy in the still air. You push off the counter hard enough that the chair legs scrape behind you, the sound loud and jarring. You don’t look at the envelope again. You can’t. Not if you’re going to do what you’re about to do.

You turn and head back to your room. Fast. No hesitation now. The mirror catches you for half a second—bare skin, messy hair, marks that don’t belong in a town like this—and you almost stop. Almost. But then Joe’s voice cuts through your head like a blade.

Thought the Mayor should be more careful who he screws.

Something in you snaps. You grab the first clothes you can find—a thin tank top, soft from too many washes, and a pair of leggings that cling to your hips like they were made for you. You don’t think about how they look. You don’t think about anything except getting dressed.

You don’t shower. Not even for a second. You could. You should. You know what’s still on your skin, what’s still inside you, what any normal person would wash away before stepping out into the world. But you don’t. Because this... this is yours.

This is the one thing in this entire goddamn town that isn’t fake, or whispered about, or turned into something ugly. You don’t want to scrub it off. You don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Let them look. Let them think whatever they want. You’re done shrinking for people who already decided who you were.

By the time you’re out the door, your pulse is loud in your ears. The heat hits you immediately. The kind that settles into your lungs and makes every breath feel like work. You don’t slow down. You walk fast. Faster than usual. Almost running.

Dust kicks up around your ankles as you cut through the road, past houses that all look the same, past windows that might have eyes behind them. You don’t care. Not today.

The church comes into view before you expect it.

White paint peeling, cross casting a long shadow across the cracked ground. A handful of people stand outside—spaced awkwardly apart, masks half on, half off, like even they don’t know what rules they’re supposed to follow anymore.

The pastor is talking with his hands clasped and voice calm. Until they see you. Every single one of them.

It’s like a ripple. Heads turning. Eyes narrowing. You feel it before you fully register it. The weight of their attention, the judgment, the quiet disgust they don’t even bother to hide.

One woman pulls her cardigan tighter around herself. Another leans closer to the man beside her, whispering something that makes him glance at you, then quickly look away. You almost stop. Almost. But then something hot and ugly rises in your chest, and you keep walking. Head high. Chin up. Let them look. Let them choke on it.

You’re not the one sneaking around in the dark pretending to be something you’re not. You’re not the one hiding behind a pulpit or a wedding ring. You’re just honest about it. And somehow that makes you the problem.

Your jaw tightens.

“Yeah,” you mutter under your breath as you pass them. “Real fucking sinners, right?”

No one answers. Of course they don’t. They never do. You keep moving. Faster now.

The flat, beige, and unwelcoming station comes into view like a bad memory you can’t shake. The flag barely moves in the lazy wind like even it’s too tired to care.

By the time you reach the steps, sweat is sliding down your chest, sticking your shirt to your skin. Your hair is already coming loose, strands clinging to your neck. You don’t slow down. You shove the door open. And the cold hits you like a shock. You freeze for half a second. Just enough to feel it.

Air conditioning blasting like a miracle, like stepping into a different world entirely. Your skin prickles, goosebumps rising instantly, your breath catching as your body tries to adjust.

For a second—just one—you forget why you’re here. And then you see him. And you laugh. You can’t help it. It bursts out of you, loud and sharp and completely out of place in the sterile quiet of the station.

Joe Cross stands in the middle of the room, squared up like he’s on a stage instead of in a half empty office that smells like paper and bleach. An iPhone is pointed at him. One of his officers—some kid who looks like he regrets every life choice that led him here—is holding it up, trying to keep it steady.

Joe clears his throat.

“For the people of Eddington,” he starts, voice already too stiff, too rehearsed, “I believe in strong leadership. Real leadership. Not the kind that hides behind—”

He stumbles. Just a little. Enough. Your laugh gets louder. He falters completely this time, eyes snapping toward you. The officer lowers the phone slightly, confused. Joe straightens, irritation flashing across his face like a crack in glass.

“What the hell is so funny?” he snaps.

You lean against the doorframe, still laughing, shaking your head.

“This?” you gesture vaguely at him, the phone, the whole pathetic setup. “This is your campaign?”

He bristles. “We’re filming—”

“No, I can tell,” you cut in, wiping under your eye like you’re actually crying from it. “I just didn’t realize it was supposed to be comedy.”

The officer snorts before he can stop himself. Joe shoots him a look that could kill. You push off the wall, stepping further inside, the cool air wrapping around you, grounding you just enough to keep going.

“You don’t even know what you’re saying,” you go on, voice lighter than you feel. “You’re just…standing there. Talking. About nothing.”

His jaw tightens.

“I’m talking about change,” he says, forcing control back into his voice.

“Yeah?” you tilt your head. “Name one thing.”

Silence. Just for a second. But it’s enough. Your smile widens, slow and sharp.

“Thought so.”

The room shifts. You can feel it—the tension, the attention, the way every set of eyes is now on you instead of him. And for once? You don’t hate it. You step closer. Slow and deliberate. Your voice drops just enough to make it personal.

“You really think you can run this town?” you ask. “You? With nothing to say and nothing to offer except whatever dirt you think you’ve got on people?”

His expression changes. Not much. But enough. There it is. That flicker. You see it. And now he knows you see it too.

“Careful,” he says quietly.

You smile.

“Or what?”

It lands sharper than you expect. Like you finally stopped flinching. Joe watches you for a second too long. Something in his face shifts—not anger, not yet. Something meaner. Like he’s been waiting for you to step into this exact spot so he can pull the ground out from under you.

The officer with the phone lowers it completely now, glancing between the two of you like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be. Joe exhales through his nose, slow. Then he smiles.

“Tell me something,” he says, tone suddenly casual, like you’re back to small talk. “You know when the Horseshoe's opening back up?”

It hits strange. Out of nowhere. You blink once, thrown off just enough to hate it.

“What?”

“The club,” he repeats, tilting his head. “You still working there, right?”

You stiffen. You don’t like how he says it. Working there. Like it’s something sticky. Like it leaves residue.

“I don’t know,” you answer, clipped. “Nobody does.”

That part’s true. Everything’s been limbo. Waiting. Delayed announcements and empty promises. You’ve been surviving day to day, same as everyone else. Joe hums like he expected that.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s what I thought.”

There’s a beat.

You shift your weight, impatient. “You got a point, or—”

He cuts you off.

“They’re opening the diner next week.”

You frown. “I know that.”

“Mechanic’s right after,” he adds, watching you carefully now.

“I know that too.”

You feel irritation climbing your spine. Why is he telling you this? You’ve talked about this with Ted. Late nights, early mornings, quiet moments where the world felt almost normal again. You’d joked about eating greasy takeout food in his SUV like nothing had changed. You remember telling him—clear as anything—you couldn’t wait for the greasiest burger and a strawberry shake. You remember the way his mouth had twitched at that. The way he’d said, “I know.”

Joe keeps going.

“And after that…” he shrugs lightly, like it’s nothing. “Garcia’s place.”

Your body goes still. Not visibly. But inside? Everything halts.

“What?” you ask, slower this time.

Joe watches it happen. Watches the exact second something in you catches.

“His bar,” he says, like you’re the one who’s behind. “He’s got the paperwork ready. Just waiting for the green light after the first two reopenings go smooth.”

The words don’t land right. Like your brain doesn’t want to hold them. You blink.

“That’s not—” you start, then stop.

Because suddenly you’re not sure. You think back. Every conversation. Every night he’s been in your bed, in your kitchen, in your space like he belongs there. You talked about the diner. You talked about town hall. You talked about Joe, about the campaign, about everything. He never mentioned the reopening of his bar. Not once.

Your chest tightens.

“That doesn’t make sense,” you say, but it comes out quieter now. Less certain.

Joe shrugs again, easy.

“Why wouldn’t it?”

Because he would’ve told me. The thought hits hard. He tells you everything that matters. Doesn’t he? You remember...

Him showing up late, exhausted, talking about council votes like they weighed on him. Him muttering into your shoulder about budgets, closures, pressure from the county and state. Him asking what you thought. Actually asking. Like your opinion mattered.

Your stomach twists.

“You’re lying,” you say, trying to remain composed.

Joe smiles. There it is again. That knowing look.

“I don’t have to lie to you,” he says. “Not about this.”

Silence stretches. The officer shifts awkwardly behind the counter, clearly wishing he was anywhere else. You don’t look at him. You can’t.

Your brain is moving too fast now. Replaying things. Small things. Ted checking his phone more often. Ted getting quiet mid conversation sometimes. Ted saying “we’ll figure it out” instead of anything concrete.

Your pulse ticks up. No. No, that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. He’s busy. He’s the mayor.

Of course there are things he doesn’t say out loud right away.

Of course—

Joe interrupts your thoughts like he can hear them.

“Funny thing about small towns,” he says lightly. “Nothing stays quiet for long. Especially not decisions that big.”

Your jaw tightens. “Spit it out.”

You don’t want him dragging this. You don’t want him enjoying it.

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re something under glass. And then—

He drops it.

“They already voted.”

The words don’t register at first.

“What?”

“At the last closed session,” he continues, almost bored now. “Couple weeks ago.”

Your heart stutters.

You swallow. “Voted on what?”

You already know. Somewhere deep down, you already know. But you need him to say it. You need to hear it. Joe doesn’t rush. He leans back against the desk, crossing his arms like he’s settling in for a show.

“The Horseshoe,” he says. “Permanent closure.”

Everything inside you goes quiet. Just... gone. Like someone cut the power.

You stare at him. Not moving. Not breathing right.

“That’s not…” your voice trails off. “No.”

Joe watches your face carefully.

Enjoying this.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

“No,” you repeat, sharper now. “They can’t just—”

“They can,” he cuts in. “And they did.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. Your mind is scrambling now. Trying to catch up. Trying to find a version of reality where this makes sense.

“They didn’t announce anything,” you say. “There would’ve been—people would’ve—”

“It’s coming,” Joe says. “They’re waiting to stagger the reopenings. Make it look less…targeted.”

Targeted. The word burns.

“Bullshit,” you snap. “That place employs half the girls in this town.”

Joe lifts a brow. “Did.”

The officer winces. Actually winces. You don’t even notice.

Your chest is tight now. Too tight. You think of the Horseshoe. The lights. The noise. The way it felt alive. The way it paid your rent, your bills, your life. Gone. Just like that.

“You’re lying,” you say again, but there’s no bite left in it now.

Joe doesn’t even react this time. He just watches you.

And then because he’s not done. Of course he’s not done.

“He knew,” Joe says.

That one hits. Clean and precise.

You blink. “What?”

“The mayor,” he clarifies, voice almost gentle now. “He’s been aware for weeks.”

Your stomach drops.

No. No, no—

“He didn’t—” you start, but the words won’t finish.

Joe tilts his head.

“He voted for it.”

Everything stops. This time for real. You feel it happen. Something inside you—something you didn’t even realize you were holding—just…gives.

“No,” you say, barely above a whisper.

Joe doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t soften.

“He signed off,” he says. “Same as the rest of them.”

You stare at him. And suddenly you’re not in the station anymore. You’re in your kitchen. You’re in your bed. You’re on your couch, watching him on that stupid campaign video, talking about protecting the town. You’re laughing at his texts. You’re waiting for him to show up with takeout.

You’re remembering...

Strawberry milkshakes.Cheeseburgers wrapped in paper. Him handing them to you like it was something important. Like you were something important.

Your throat tightens painfully. He knew.

All those nights...

All those conversations...

All those times you talked about things opening back up, about getting back to normal, about surviving this...

He knew. And he didn’t say a word. Your hands feel numb. You look down at them like they belong to someone else. The officer is staring at you now. Not smug. Not amused. Just… watching. Like he knows something just broke.

Joe pushes off the desk, slow and measured. 

“Guess he forgot to mention that part,” he says.

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your brain is trying to rearrange him. Trying to make the man you know fit into this new shape.

The man who holds you like you matter. The man who says your name like it’s something soft. The man who just this morning told you...

Never gonna lose you.

Your chest aches. Because now it sounds different.

Now it sounds like something else. Like a promise he made knowing exactly what he’d already taken from you. Your job. Your stability. Your place in this town, shitty as it was. Gone. And he helped make it happen.

You feel sick.

“You’re wrong,” you say finally, but it’s hollow.

Even you can hear it. Joe doesn’t argue. He doesn’t need to.

“You can ask him,” he says.

The words sit there. Daring you. The station feels too cold now. Too bright. You suddenly hate being here. Hate him. Hate this town. Hate the way everything is always just out of reach—normal, decent, fair.

Your jaw tightens hard.

“Stay out of my life,” you say, voice low and shaking just enough to betray you.

Joe smiles again. Because he knows. He knows he doesn’t have to. He’s already in it.

You turn before he can say anything else. Before you can see whatever expression he’s wearing now. Before you break in front of him.The door slams harder than you mean it to. Heat crashes into you again. Blinding and immediate. But it doesn’t feel the same now. Nothing does.

You stand there for a second on the steps, breathing hard, the sun beating down on you like punishment.

Your head is spinning. Your chest feels tight. Ted’s face flashes in your mind... soft, half asleep, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.

You swallow hard.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, but you don’t know who you’re saying it to.

Him. Joe. Yourself. Maybe all three.

The town stretches out in front of you. Same as always. But something about it feels different now. Like it’s already moved on without you. Like it always was going to.

And you—

You’re just standing here, realizing you might not have known him at all.

You decide not to go to Ted.

That’s the first decision you make, even if it doesn’t feel like one. It just… happens. Your body turns away from the station, away from the hill where his house sits like something permanent and unreachable, and instead you start walking in the opposite direction.

Home.

You don’t run or rush. You just walk.

Step after step, the heat pressing into your skin, the sun high and merciless like it wants to expose everything you’ve been trying not to see. The same streets stretch out in front of you, the same cracked pavement, the same sagging porches , the same desert wind dragging dust across everything like a quiet warning.

You pass the same houses you passed an hour ago, but now they feel different. The windows feel sharper, like eyes instead of glass. The silence feels heavier, like it’s not just empty but watching. You can feel it in the way people look at you when you pass—still the same judgment, the same quiet disgust but now it lands differently.

Before, it was them versus you. Now it feels like him too.

Your jaw tightens. You keep walking. You don’t look at anyone directly, but you see everything anyway. A woman pulling her kid a little closer as you pass. A man pretending to check his phone while his eyes follow your ass. Someone across the street pausing mid-conversation, voice lowering just enough that you know it’s about you.

It’s always about you. But now your mind isn’t on them. It’s on him. On the way his name sits in your chest like something that used to be solid. You keep replaying it. He knew. Weeks.

Joe didn’t hesitate when he said it. Didn’t fumble, didn’t guess. He knew exactly what he was saying, exactly where it would land. And worse—worse than Joe knowing is the way it fits.

Too easily. Too fucking clean.

Your steps slow without you meaning them to. You pass one of his posters nailed to a wooden post, the paper curling slightly at the edges from the heat. His face stares out at you, calm, composed, and steady. The kind of face people trust. The kind of face that promises things without saying them outright.

You stop. Just for a second. Look at it. Really look at it. Before, you liked seeing him like this. It made you proud in a quiet, private way you never admitted out loud. Like you knew something no one else did. Like the man on the poster and the man in your bed were two versions of the same truth.

It looks fake now. Though not entirely fake. That’s the worst part.

It’s still him. The same eyes. The same mouth. The same quiet strength that made people listen when he spoke. But now it feels…constructed. Like something built. Like something chosen.

Like something that doesn’t include you.

You look away. Keep walking. Your chest feels tight, like something is pressing inward from all sides.

You think about his speeches. The way he stands at a podium, voice steady, talking about community and safety and doing what’s right. You think about the way he picks his words carefully, the way he pauses just long enough to make people lean in.

It all felt real before. Now it feels calculated. Intentional.

Like he knows exactly what people need to hear and gives it to them. Even if it costs something else. Even if it costs you.

Your chest tightens.

You think about the nights he spent in your house. The way he’d talk to you like you mattered. The way he’d ask what you thought about things like it wasn’t just polite, like it actually meant something. The way he’d listen.

And now you can’t stop hearing it...

Everything he didn’t say.

Every time you brought up the club. Every time you joked about going back, about getting your life back, about things returning to normal. Every time you said you couldn’t wait.

And he—

What? Nodded? Changed the subject? Kissed you?

Your stomach twists.

He didn’t trust you enough to tell you. That’s what it comes down to.

Not just that he voted. Not just that he chose. That he decided your future for you. Quietly. Without you in the room. Without giving you a chance to react, to fight, to even know.

Your pace picks up again, anger starting to bleed into something hotter, sharper.

He protected the town. Of course he did. That’s his job. That’s what he does. That’s what everyone loves him for.

But he did it while still coming to your house. While still crawling into your bed, touching you like you were something precious, saying things that felt dangerously close to love.

He chose the town. And still chose you. Like you were separate. Like you weren’t affected by the same decisions. Like you could just… exist in the space he carved out for you.

Your chest aches. Because you know. You know he cares.

You know he loves you in the only way he knows how—quiet, restrained, and careful, like he’s always one step away from losing something.

You’ve felt it. In the way he holds you. In the way he looks at you when he forgets himself. In the way he says your name when he’s not thinking about anything else.

But he still chose them. Over you.

And that...

That’s what breaks something.

By the time your house comes into view, your head is buzzing with it. Every memory reframed, every moment turned over and over until it doesn’t fit the same way anymore.

You don’t slow down when you reach the porch. You don’t hesitate. You push the door open, step inside, and the air hits you like something stale, something waiting.

The envelope is still there. Exactly where you left it.You stare at it. For one second. Two. And then you cross the room, grab it, and throw it straight into the trash like it burned you.

You don’t want to look at it again. You don’t want to give it that power. Fuck Ted. And fuck his political career. 

Your hands are shaking now. Not from fear. From something else.

You turn and head straight to the bathroom.

The shower turns on with a violent hiss, water sputtering before it steadies. You step in before it’s even fully warm, the cold biting at your skin, making you suck in a sharp breath.

You just stand there. Let it hit you. Let it soak into your hair, your skin, everything.

You reach down, scrub hard. Harder than you need to. Like you’re trying to erase something. The feeling of him. The warmth. The evidence.

His cum still inside you, still on you, still something you chose to keep just hours ago... now it feels different. Now it feels like something you need off.

You wash it away. All of it. Every trace.

Your hands move fast, rough, like you’re angry at your own body for holding onto it, for wanting to keep it. Soap lathers, rinses, disappears down the drain, and you keep going until your skin feels raw, until there’s nothing left but heat and water and your own breathing echoing off the tile.

By the time you step out, your hair is dripping, your skin flushed. You don’t look in the mirror. You don’t want to.

You wrap yourself in a towel for all of ten seconds before dropping it and moving again.

The bed. The sheets. They smell like him.

You rip them off in one motion, yanking the blankets with them, pillows tossed aside like they offended you. Fabric piles up on the floor, tangled and heavy and still holding onto something you don’t want anymore.

Trash bags.

You grab them from under the sink, shove everything inside without folding, without caring. The sound of plastic crinkling fills the room, loud and harsh.

You tie the bag off tight. Too tight. Like that’ll do anything. You stand there for a second, breathing hard, staring at it. Then you grab another. More sheets. More blankets. Everything. Gone.

By the time you’re done, your room looks bare. Different. Like something was stripped out of it.

You then pull on clothes, shorts, another tank top. You shove a handful of coins into your pocket, not even counting them. And then you leave again. 

You don’t stop moving until your legs force you to.

The laundromat sits on the edge of town like everything else—sun bleached, low, humming with machines that sound older than the building itself. The sign out front flickers even in daylight, letters half dead, like no one’s bothered to care in years. You push the door open with your shoulder, trash bags digging into your fingers, the plastic biting into your skin as the weight shifts.

Inside, the air hits you all at once.

It smells like detergent and metal and something faintly sour underneath, like too many people trying to wash things that don’t really come clean. The machines rattle and churn along one wall, a steady, grinding rhythm that almost drowns out your thoughts if you let it.

You don’t.

You drag your bags across the tile, not caring about the noise, not caring about anything except getting the sheets out of your hands. You shove everything into the first open washer you find—blankets, pillowcases, tangled fabric that still feels like him if you let yourself think about it long enough.

You don’t.

You dump soap in without measuring. Slam the lid shut harder than necessary. The machine kicks to life with a violent jerk, water slamming into fabric like it’s trying to beat something out of it.

Good.

You turn away before you can second guess it.

There’s a plastic chair near the wall, cracked along the edge. You drop into it, legs spread slightly, elbows braced on your knees as you lean forward, breathing hard like you ran the whole way here instead of just walking too fast.

Your skin is still sensitive from the shower. Your hair is half dried in uneven strands, clinging to your neck. Sweat gathers anyway—Eddington doesn’t care what you’ve already been through today. It just keeps taking.

You stare at the floor. At the scuffed tile, the faded footprints, the quiet evidence of people coming in here to clean things they couldn’t fix any other way.

Your phone vibrates. You don’t even look at it at first. You already know.

It keeps going. Buzzing against your waistband, persistent, familiar. That rhythm you’ve learned without trying. Him.

You close your eyes for a second.

Then you reach down, pull it out, and look. Ted. Of course.

Your thumb hovers over the screen. You can picture him without even trying—jaw tight, pacing somewhere, probably already halfway through whatever meeting he rushed to, checking his phone between conversations, expecting you to answer like you always do.

Because you always do. Because you never don’t.

The phone buzzes again in your hand.

And you just…

Let it.

You hit silence. Not decline. 

The vibration stops. The screen goes dark. Your reflection stares back at you faintly—tired, blank, something harder sitting behind your eyes that wasn’t there this morning.

You shove the phone back into your waistband like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing. It doesn’t feel like nothing.

It feels like holding your breath underwater and pretending you don’t need air.

The machines keep running. Time stretches. You don’t notice how long you’ve been sitting there until a sound cuts through the noise... sharp, deliberate. Someone clearing their throat. Loud.

You blink, head snapping up, irritation already climbing your spine before you even look.

There’s a guy across from you. You hadn’t registered him when you walked in—just movement, presence, something you didn’t care enough to focus on. But now he’s there, leaning back against one of the machines, arms crossed loosely, watching you like he’s been trying to get your attention for a while.

He’s not ugly. That’s the first thing you think.

Clean enough. Early thirties maybe. Broad shoulders, sun-tanned skin, hair that looks like he actually tries with it. The kind of guy who blends in here—construction, oil, something steady and physical. The kind of guy who probably has a truck that smells like dust and fast food.

Not your type. Not him. Not even close.

You stare at him for a second longer than necessary, unimpressed.

“What?” you ask, flat.

He doesn’t flinch. Just shrugs one shoulder, like he expected that.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. “Just figured you’d notice eventually.”

You huff quietly, leaning back in your chair now, arms folding across your chest.

“Congratulations,” you mutter. “You got my attention.”

Something about that makes him smile. Not cocky exactly... more like he’s amused you didn’t immediately shut him down.

“Rough morning?” he asks, nodding toward the washer.

You follow his gaze without thinking. The machine’s still going, water slamming, fabric twisting violently.

“Something like that,” you say.

He nods like that makes sense.

“I get it,” he says. “This place tends to catch people on bad days.”

You let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh if you were in a different mood.

“Yeah?” you say. “What’s yours?”

He gestures vaguely around the room.

“Same as everyone else,” he says. “Work dried up. Too much time. Not enough money. Figured I’d at least keep my clothes clean while everything else falls apart.”

You tilt your head slightly.

“Construction?” you guess.

He nods.

“Yeah. You?”

You pause. There’s a version of this answer you’ve given a hundred times. A softer one. A vague one. You don’t use it.

“Club,” you say. “Or I was.”

His expression shifts—not judgmental, not surprised. Just…processing.

“Yeah,” he says after a second. “That makes sense.”

You narrow your eyes slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He holds his hands up a little.

“Nothing bad,” he says quickly. “Just—you’ve got that look.”

“That look?” you repeat.

“Like you don’t belong sitting still,” he says. “Like you’re used to moving. Talking. People paying attention.”

You stare at him. He’s not wrong. You don’t like that.

“Yeah,” you say after a beat. “Well. Nobody’s paying for that right now.”

He nods again.

“Same,” he says.

Silence settles for a second, but it’s not awkward. Not heavy. Just…there.

Then he shifts slightly, pushing off the machine.

“So,” he says, a little more direct now. “You single?”

The question lands clean. Simple. Normal.

You almost laugh. Your brain doesn’t answer right away. Because what is that? What are you?

Almost two years. Almost two full years of him showing up in the dark, slipping into your life like something that only exists when no one’s looking. Two years of not needing to ask that question because the answer didn’t matter.

You haven’t been with anyone else. Not once. Not even close.

Your thumb presses lightly against your waist where your phone sits tucked away. Silent.

You think about this morning. About his hands. His voice. The way he said things like they were real.

Then you think about Joe. What he told you.

Your jaw tightens.

“Yeah,” you say finally.

The word comes out steady. Like you didn’t hesitate at all. His brows lift slightly, like he didn’t expect that.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” you repeat, firmer.

Something settles in your chest as you say it. Relief? Regret?

He studies you for a second, then nods slowly.

“Good to know,” he says.

You tilt your head.

“Why?”

He shrugs, a hint of a grin pulling at his mouth.

“Because,” he says, “there’s a thing tonight.”

You don’t react right away.

“A thing,” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he says. “Small. Just…people who are sick of sitting around doing nothing.”

You huff quietly.

“That’s illegal right now,” you say.

“So is half the shit everyone’s been doing to get by,” he shoots back easily.

You don’t argue that.

He shifts his weight, watching you closer now.

“Come with me,” he says. “Couple drinks. Music. Something that doesn’t feel like this.” He gestures around the laundromat.

You glance at the machines. The noise. The empty chairs. The silence.

You think about going home.About the bare bed. The stripped sheets you would have to put back on. The empty space. You think about waiting. About him maybe showing up. About him explaining.

Or not.

Your stomach twists. You look back at the guy.

“At a house?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “Out past the edge of town. Nothing fancy.”

You consider it. Really consider it.

Not him. Not the party. What it means. Doing something you wouldn’t have done yesterday. Something you wouldn’t have even thought about.

Your fingers tap lightly against your knee.

“Why me?” you ask.

He smiles, a little crooked.

“Because you look like you need it,” he says.

You stare at him for a long second.

Then you lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly.

“Maybe I do,” you say.

The words hang there. And for the first time all day, you don’t think about turning back.

You sit there for a second in silence, the weight of your own words settling into your chest in a way that feels unfamiliar and a little reckless. It’s not like you’ve never made impulsive decisions before—you live off them, survive off them—but this one feels different. This one isn’t about money, or distraction, or getting through another night. This one feels intentional. Like you’re choosing something instead of just falling into it.

You look at him again, really look this time, and let out a short breath that turns into a quiet laugh.

“If you’re driving,” you say, nodding toward the machines, “you can take me home after this finishes.”

He straightens a little, interest sharpening.

“And then?” he asks.

You shrug, like it doesn’t matter, like it’s casual.

“Then I’ll go,” you say. “But you’re picking me up. I’m not walking all the way out there.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

“Deal,” he says.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your mouth despite yourself.

“That was fast,” you mutter.

He shrugs, mirroring you from earlier.

“Desperate times,” he says.

You huff out another laugh, softer this time.

“Yeah,” you say. “Guess so.”

The machines keep running, filling the silence between you with a steady hum that almost feels comforting now. You don’t think about your phone again. You don’t think about the house waiting for you, stripped and empty.

You just sit there, talking about nothing and everything... weather, stupid town gossip, what little there is left to do in a place that feels like it’s holding its breath.

By the time your laundry is done, the sun has shifted just enough to change the color of everything outside. The heat hasn’t let up, but it’s softened at the edges, like the day is finally starting to loosen its grip.

He helps you carry the bags without asking. You don’t thank him. It’s not that kind of interaction.

The drive back to your place is quiet in a way that isn’t uncomfortable. His truck smells like dust and something faintly sweet, like gum or air freshener that’s been there too long. The windows are cracked, hot wind pushing through, carrying that familiar desert smell.

You lean your head back against the seat, eyes half lidded, watching the road blur past.

You don’t think about Ted. Not really. You don’t let yourself. Or so you tell yourself.

When you pull up to your house, it looks exactly the same as when you left. Like nothing inside it could possibly have shifted, even though you know better.

You grab your bags, stepping out onto the gravel.

“Seven?” he asks, leaning out the window.

You glance back at him, shielding your eyes from the sun.

“Seven,” you confirm.

He nods once.

“I’ll be here.”

You don’t respond. Just shut the door and head inside, the weight of the bags pulling at your arms again.

The house greets you with that same stale quiet. It doesn’t feel as sharp now, though. Not as suffocating. Maybe because you’re not planning to stay in it all night.

You dump the laundry on a chair, not bothering to put anything away yet. You’ll deal with it later. Or tomorrow. Or never.

Right now, all you want is to shut your eyes.

The bed is bare, stripped down to the mattress, and for a second you hesitate. The absence is loud. Too loud. But you’re too tired to care.

You grab a thin throw from the couch, drag it back with you, and collapse onto the bed without thinking too hard about it.

The ceiling stares back at you. Your body is still buzzing, not from anything physical now, but from everything sitting just under the surface. The conversation at the station. The look on Joe’s face. The words that won’t stop replaying no matter how hard you try to push them away.

He knew.

Your eyes squeeze shut.

“Stop,” you whisper to yourself.

You turn onto your side, curling slightly, pulling the throw up around you even though it does nothing to block out the heat.

Sleep comes anyway. Not deep. Not peaceful. Just enough to drag you under and give your mind something else to chew on.

What you don’t see, what you don’t feel, is the quiet shift happening somewhere else entirely.

Across town, a house sits just as still as yours. A driveway empty. A door closed. And on that door, an envelope—thick, deliberate, familiar in all the worst ways—is slid into place by hands that don’t linger.

It sits there. Waiting.

At the courthouse, Ted's moving through his day like he always does, controlled and focused. Papers in hand, voice steady, answering questions, signing things that affect everyone but him... or at least that’s how it’s supposed to feel.

But something’s off. It’s small. Subtle. The kind of thing no one else would notice.

He checks his phone more than usual. Between conversations. Between signatures. Between moments where his attention should be elsewhere. Your name sits there in the silence. Unread. Unanswered.

He tries again. Call. Straight to nothing.

His jaw tightens just slightly. He tells himself you’re busy. That you’re sleeping. That you’re doing exactly what you always do. But the feeling doesn’t leave.

It lingers...

Quiet. Persistent. Wrong.

By the time the sun starts to drop, painting the sky in those washed out desert colors that never quite feel real, you wake up with a sharp inhale.

Your body feels heavy, like you’ve been dragged through something instead of resting. Your hair sticks to your face. The throw is half on the floor.

For a second, you don’t remember where you are. Then it all comes back. Your stomach twists.

You sit up slowly, pressing your palm to your face, dragging it down like you can wipe the memory away.

Your phone sits somewhere in the house. You don’t go looking for it. You don’t need to. You already know. Calls. Messages. Probably more than you want to count.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching out the stiffness in your body. The light coming through the window is different now.

Seven isn’t far off.

You move toward the bathroom without thinking too hard about it. The mirror catches you again, and this time you stop.

You look… different.

Not in a dramatic way. Nothing obvious. But there’s something sharper in your expression. Something less willing to bend.

“Good,” you mutter under your breath.

You reach for your makeup. It’s not about looking good for him. Not really. It’s about control. You take your time with it.

Foundation first, smoothing over skin that still feels raw in places. Concealer where you need it. Powder to set everything into place. Your hands move automatically, muscle memory guiding you through each step.

You focus on it. On the lines. The blending. The small details that demand your attention just enough to quiet everything else. Your eyes take longer. You darken them more than usual. Sharper edges. Heavier liner. Something that makes you look a little less approachable, a little more untouchable.

Good.

Your lips last. You pause there, staring at your reflection. Then you choose something bold anyway. Because why not? Because you can. Because no one gets to tell you what version of yourself you’re allowed to be tonight.

Your hair comes next. You don’t overthink it. Just work through it until it falls the way you want... messy but intentional, like you didn’t try too hard even though you did.

By the time you’re done, the sun is nearly gone. You step back, looking at yourself fully now. You don’t look like someone who spent the day breaking.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

“Good enough.”

Your outfit comes together quickly after that. Something that fits tight, clings where it should.  You don’t think about Ted while you get dressed. Not consciously... But his absence is there anyway, sitting just under the surface of everything.

You ignore it.

By the time you’re pulling your shoes on, you hear it. A horn. You glance toward the door.

Seven.

Of course.

You grab your keys and phone without hesitation, heading out into the cooling air. The sky is streaked with color now, fading fast into that deep desert blue that swallows everything after dark. The heat lingers, but it’s softer, less punishing.

His truck idles in your driveway. He leans over, pushing the passenger door open from the inside before you even reach it.

“Right on time,” he says.

You don’t answer. You just climb in, pulling the door shut behind you. And for the first time since this morning, you let yourself go somewhere that has nothing to do with him.

You don’t say anything for the first few minutes after getting into the truck. The engine hums low beneath you, tires crunching over gravel before easing onto the open stretch of road that cuts through the desert like a scar. 

He doesn’t push it. He just drives. One hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gear shift, like this is normal for him. Like picking you up, like bringing you somewhere like this, is something he does all the time.

You glance at him briefly.

“You got a name?” you ask, finally breaking the silence.

He lets out a quiet laugh, like he’s been waiting for that.

“Joseph,” he says. “Figured we should probably start there.”

You nod once, leaning your head back against the seat again.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Probably.”

“Yours?” he asks.

You tell him.

He repeats it once, like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth, then nods to himself.

“Fits,” he says.

You don’t respond to that.

The road stretches on, empty and endless, desert on both sides like it’s swallowing everything whole. The wind pushes through the cracked window, warm and dry, carrying that familiar smell of dust and heat and something faintly metallic underneath.

“Friend’s place,” he says after a while, nodding ahead. “He’s got some land out past the edge. Nobody really bothers him out there.”

You hum softly.

“Makes sense,” you say.

Silence settles again, but it’s lighter this time. Easier.

“You been losing your mind yet?” he asks suddenly.

You glance at him.

“What?”

“This whole thing,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Lockdowns. Curfews. Everyone acting like the world’s ending.”

You let out a breath.

“Yeah,” you say. “Little bit.”

He huffs a laugh.

“Little bit?” he repeats. “I’m about two days away from losing it completely.”

You smirk faintly.

“Same.”

And that’s the truth. Because it’s not just the pandemic. It’s everything wrapped up inside it.

The shutdowns. The silence. The way your life just… stopped without asking you first. The way the one place that kept you afloat is gone now, erased like it never mattered.

The way he—

You cut the thought off. Hard. But it lingers anyway.

You stare out the window, watching the darkness creep in.This pandemic. It’s the reason the club is closing. The reason everything is falling apart. The reason he made that decision. The reason he didn’t tell you.

Your jaw tightens. The reason whatever you had with him is starting to crack down the middle, whether either of you wants to admit it or not.

You shift in your seat slightly. Maybe this is good. Maybe this—this ride, this night, this random guy who showed up out of nowhere—is exactly what you need. A distraction. A break. Something that isn’t him.

Your eyes flick toward Joseph again. He’s focused on the road, relaxed in a way that feels… simple. No weight behind it. No hidden meaning. Just a guy driving you somewhere.

The thought slips in before you can stop it. Maybe you should. Maybe you should just… let yourself go tonight. Let it happen. Let something happen.

Sleep with Joseph... Forget everything else for a few hours. Forget the envelope. Forget Ted's vote. Forget the way your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and filled with something sharp.

Your stomach turns. Hard. You look away immediately, pressing your lips together.

No.

The idea alone makes something in you twist wrong. Because no matter how angry you are, no matter how hurt—

Your heart doesn’t move that fast. It’s still there. Still tangled up in someone else. In someone older, steadier, complicated in ways that make your head spin. In someone who said things this morning that you didn’t question until it was too late.

You swallow.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath.

Joseph glances over.

“You good?”

You nod quickly.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just tired.”

He accepts that without pushing.

“Not much farther,” he says.

You nod again, grateful for the shift.

The road turns rougher after that, dirt kicking up behind the truck as he veers off onto a path that barely looks like one. You can see it before you even fully arrive—the glow of lights in the distance, headlights scattered everywhere, silhouettes of cars and trucks parked in uneven rows across an open stretch of land.

It’s bigger than you expected. Way bigger.

“Jesus,” you murmur.

Joseph grins slightly.

“Told you,” he says.

It looks like a ranch.

Wide. Open. A house sitting in the middle of it like it doesn’t care about anything outside its own walls. Music drifts through the air, low but steady, bass thumping just enough to feel it under your skin before you even step out.

People are everywhere. Not just a few. A lot. More than there should be. More than anyone’s supposed to allow right now.

Your pulse ticks up. Not from fear. From something else. Energy. Movement. Life.

Joseph pulls the truck to a stop among the others, engine cutting out with a soft rumble. For a second, neither of you move.

Then he’s already unbuckling, stepping out before you can reach for the handle. You blink. He moves fast, circling the front of the truck like it’s second nature, like he doesn’t even think about it. By the time you reach for the door, it’s already being pulled open from the outside.

You pause. He stands there, one hand on the door, waiting.

“After you,” he says.

You stare at him for half a second.

It’s… nice. Simple. Normal. Not complicated. Not hidden.

You step out, brushing past him slightly.

“Thanks,” you say, quieter than you expected.

He nods like it’s nothing.

“No problem.”

But it doesn’t feel like nothing.

Because another man is doing something small and considerate for you, out in the open, without hesitation, without needing to hide it. And it throws you off. More than it should.

You follow him toward the house, gravel crunching under your shoes, the sound of voices getting louder the closer you get.

Inside, it’s chaos. Not bad chaos. Alive chaos.

Music louder now, people packed into rooms that feel too small for the amount of bodies in them. Laughter. Shouting. Someone yelling over a song you vaguely recognize.

It hits you all at once. The noise, heat, movement. You almost laugh.

Joseph doesn’t hesitate. The second you step in, he’s already being pulled into a group of guys near the doorway.

“Holy shit, you made it,” one of them says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Joseph laughs, easy, like he belongs here.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Told you I would.”

Then he gestures toward you.

“This is—” he says your name, clear, direct.

Every single one of them looks at you. Of course they do. They try not to make it obvious. They fail. You can feel it. The way their eyes linger just a second too long. The way they take you in, piece by piece, like they’re trying to figure you out without asking.

You don’t react. You’ve been looked at your whole life. This is nothing.

“Hey,” one of them says, a little too eager.

You nod once.

“Hey.”

Joseph doesn’t let it linger.

“C’mon,” he says, lightly touching your arm. “Let’s get you a drink.”

You let him guide you through the crowd, weaving between bodies, the music vibrating through the floor under your feet. The kitchen is worse. Packed. But there’s a table set up against one wall, bottles lined up like a display—cheap liquor, plastic cups, whatever people could get their hands on.

Joseph grabs one without asking, pours something dark into it, then holds it out to you. You don’t hesitate. You take it. Don’t say thank you. Don’t think. You bring it straight to your lips and take a long drink. It burns. Exactly what you need.

You exhale through your nose, eyes closing for just a second as the heat spreads through your chest.

“Damn,” he laughs softly.

You glance at him.

“What?” you say.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just… you really needed that, huh?”

You let out a short laugh.

“Yeah,” you admit.

And you do. God, you do. The tension in your shoulders eases just slightly. Not gone. Never gone. But dulled. Manageable.

You take another sip, slower this time. Joseph grabs his own drink, leaning back against the counter beside you.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod.

“Better.”

And for a second—

Just a second—

It is. Because this is something else. Not quiet. Not empty. Not filled with thoughts you can’t shut off. Just noise. People. Music. Heat. You look around, taking it in. This is what you’ve been missing. Not the club. Not exactly. But this. Being somewhere. Being seen. Existing in a space that doesn’t pretend you don’t.

You glance at Joseph again. He’s watching you, not in that heavy, consuming way you’re used to—but in a lighter one. Curious. Interested. Present. It’s easier... simpler.

You take another drink. Maybe he is a good distraction. Maybe that’s all this needs to be. Because the man you’ve been tangled up with for almost two years—

He would never bring you here. Would never stand beside you in a room like this, introduce you to his friends like you belong there. Would never risk being seen with you.

And here you are. Standing next to someone you met less than five hours ago. Holding a drink he handed you. Surrounded by people who are all looking at you like you’re part of something.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. But it does. And that realization sits somewhere deep in your chest, quiet and dangerous in its own way.

The night kept on moving, and you let it.

That’s the simplest way to describe it. You stop resisting the pull of it, stop analyzing every little thing, and just let yourself be carried by the noise, the heat, the alcohol settling deeper into your bloodstream with every sip, every laugh, every careless decision.

At some point, someone grabs your arm and you turn to see a girl with glossy lips and big hoop earrings smiling at you like you’ve known each other for years. She pulls you into a small circle of girls near the living room, their voices layered over the music.

“Where’d you come from?” one of them asks, leaning in like it’s a secret.

You shrug, lifting your cup slightly. “Around.”

They laugh like that’s the right answer. They don’t press too hard, but they’re curious. You can feel it in the way they ask questions, in the way they look at you like you’re something new dropped into their night. Where do you live, what do you do, how do you know Joseph.

You answer enough to keep it easy, keep it flowing, leaving out anything that matters too much. The club doesn’t come up. He doesn’t come up. That part of your life stays exactly where it is—hidden, tucked away, safe from being touched by this.

They like you anyway. You can tell. It’s in the way they laugh a little louder when you speak, in the way one of them bumps her shoulder against yours like you’ve earned your place without asking for it. It’s easy to forget yourself here. Or at least, easier. The alcohol helps.

By the time Joseph finds you again, weaving through the crowd with that same easy grin, your head is light and your edges are softer. He leans in close so you can hear him over the music.

“Beer pong,” he says, nodding toward the back room. “You with me?”

You don’t even think about it.

“Yeah,” you say.

Of course you are.

The table is already set up, cups lined in uneven triangles, the floor sticky under your shoes from spilled drinks and something else you don’t want to think about. People crowd around, cheering too loud for something that doesn’t matter at all. But it does. Because it’s something.

You stand beside him, shoulder brushing his, your hip knocking lightly into his when you shift your weight. He hands you a ball, your fingers brushing his for a second too long.

“Don’t embarrass me,” he says, teasing.

You scoff.

“Please,” you shoot back. “You’re the weak link here.”

He laughs, and it’s easy. Everything about him is easy.

The game starts.

You don’t even remember how long it lasts, just flashes of it—cups disappearing, cheers getting louder, your aim getting worse and better at the same time. The alcohol blurs the edges, but your body knows what it’s doing, instinct taking over where thought would slow you down.

At some point, it’s down to the last shot. Joseph nudges you.

“Your turn,” he says.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at your mouth. You toss the ball lightly in your hand once, twice, then throw. It arcs perfectly. Drops and the room explodes.

You don’t even think. You jump. Right into him. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, his hands catching your waist without hesitation, lifting you just slightly off the ground as both of you laugh, loud and unfiltered.

For a second, it feels… good. Too good. Then it hits you. What you’re doing. Where you are. Who this isn’t.

Your body reacts before your brain fully catches up. You pull back quickly, sliding out of his grip, your hands dropping to your sides like you’ve been burned.

He doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t show it.

He’s still laughing, still caught up in the win, clapping someone on the shoulder as people crowd around you both.

“Damn,” he says, looking at you. “Told you you’d carry me.”

You smile, playing it off.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Try to keep up next time.”

And just like that, it passes. But it lingers in you. That moment. That instinct.

You drink more after that. Because you want to. Shots get passed around... cheap, strong, burning in a way that makes your eyes water and your chest feel like it’s on fire in the best way. You don’t count after the third. By the fourth, you’re not really thinking about anything anymore.

Except maybe how good it feels not to think.

But your body eventually calls it. Too much noise. Too much heat. Too many people pressing in from every side.

“I need air,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

You push through the crowd before anyone can stop you, weaving your way toward the back of the house, out into the open.

The backyard is darker and quieter. Not empty, but close enough. A few scattered people sit on the ground or lean against the fence, talking low, smoking, existing in a different rhythm than the chaos inside.

You step out onto the dirt, the night air wrapping around you, cooler but still carrying that desert heat underneath. You inhale deeply, like you’ve been holding your breath all night.

“Hey.”

You turn. Joseph. Of course.

He walks up slower this time, hands in his pockets, watching you carefully.

“You good?” he asks.

You nod, leaning back slightly against the side of the house.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just needed a second.”

He steps closer, not too close, just enough.

“I’m glad you came,” he says.

You let out a soft laugh.

“Yeah?” you ask.

He nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Back at the laundromat… I wasn’t sure if you were gonna tell me to fuck off or not.”

You grin slightly.

“I almost did,” you admit.

He laughs.

“Figured,” he says. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

You tilt your head, studying him.

“Why?” you ask.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Because I thought you were pretty,” he says.

It’s so simple it almost throws you. You laugh.

“Yeah?” you say, a little incredulous.

“Yeah,” he repeats.

You shake your head, amused.

“Or,” you add, raising a brow, “you just wanted to get into my pants.”

He immediately shakes his head.

“No,” he says, serious now. “Not like that.”

You watch him for a second, the alcohol making everything feel a little slower, a little heavier.

“Then what?” you ask.

He shrugs slightly.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Just… wanted to talk to you. Get to know you.” He pauses, then adds, “Maybe take you out or something when all this shit’s over.”

Your chest does something weird at that. You’re not used to that kind of offer. Not like this. Not out loud. Not this simple.

You open your mouth to respond—

But your phone vibrates...

Right against your chest.

You groan.

“Are you kidding me,” you mutter, already reaching for it.

You pull it out from where you tucked it in your bra, squinting slightly at the screen.

Of course. Ted. Calling. Again.

You don’t even hesitate. You decline it. The screen shifts, lighting up with everything else. Missed calls. Texts. A lot of them.

Your eyes skim over them just long enough to catch the tone.

Ted: Where are you?

Ted: Are you okay?

Ted: Pick up.

Ted: We need to talk.

Your jaw tightens.

“Jesus,” you scoff.

You hold the button down, powering the phone off completely. The screen goes black in your hand. You look at Joseph, then hold the phone out.

“Hold this for me,” you say.

He takes it without question.

“Sure,” he says, slipping it into his pocket.

You exhale, running a hand through your hair.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

You hesitate. Then the words just… come out. Not all of them. But enough.

“There’s this guy,” you say, looking anywhere but at him. “Been… seeing him.”

Joseph doesn’t interrupt. You keep going.

“Won’t go out with me,” you say, your voice sharpening slightly. “Won’t be seen with me. Keeps everything… private.”

You laugh, but it’s bitter.

“Private,” you repeat.

Joseph’s expression hardens slightly.

“That’s bullshit,” he says.

You glance at him.

“Yeah,” you say. “It is.”

“He sounds like an asshole,” he adds.

You huff.

“Yeah,” you say again, quieter this time.

He shifts closer, not touching, but near.

“You shouldn’t be hidden,” he says. “Not like that.”

You don’t respond right away. Because the words hit. Harder than they should.

“You deserve better than that,” he continues. “Someone who actually shows you off. Who isn’t scared to be seen with you.”

Your chest tightens.

“You’re…” he pauses, searching for the word, “you’re not something to keep on the side.”

Something in you snaps. Fast. You move before you think.

Your hand comes up to his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, pulling him down just slightly—

And you kiss him.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant. It’s messy, sudden, fueled by something that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with everything else.

Your lipstick smears immediately, the taste of alcohol still on your tongue, your breath uneven as you press into him. He freezes for half a second. Then he responds. His hands come up, not grabbing, just holding, like he’s not sure how far to go.

You are. Until you’re not. You pull back first, breath catching, your forehead almost brushing his as you laugh—soft, a little unsteady.

Your lips brush against his neck as you tilt your head down.

“Shit,” you murmur.

And for a second, everything feels like it’s spinning just enough to keep you from thinking too hard about what you just did. But it doesn’t last. It never does.

The second your lips leave his skin, the second the air hits your mouth again, it all comes rushing back in.  Ted. The man you didn’t just kiss. The one you always go back to.

Your stomach drops, hard.

“Can you—” you start, your voice coming out rougher than you expect. You swallow, trying to steady it. “Can you take me home?”

Joseph doesn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he says immediately. “Of course.”

He doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t make it weird. That almost makes it worse.

You nod once, already stepping away from him, already putting distance between what just happened and what you’re trying to pretend didn’t.

“I’m just tired,” you add, like it explains anything.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer but not touching you this time. “You don’t have to explain.”

That makes your chest tighten. You don’t respond. Instead, you turn and start walking back toward the front, your steps a little less steady now that the adrenaline is fading and the alcohol is settling deeper into your bones. The ground shifts under your heels, uneven dirt catching you off guard more than once.

Joseph notices. Of course he does.

“Careful,” he says, moving beside you, his hand hovering just behind your back like he’s ready to catch you if you slip.

You don’t tell him to stop. You don’t lean into it either. You just let it happen. The truck feels farther away than it did when you arrived. Or maybe you’re just more aware of every step now, every movement exaggerated by the buzz in your body and the weight sitting heavy in your chest.

By the time you reach it, your head is spinning just enough to make you pause. Joseph opens the door for you again, steady, careful.

“Up you go,” he says lightly.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite in it.

“I’m not that drunk,” you mutter.

“You almost tripped twice,” he counters.

“…shut up.”

He laughs under his breath but doesn’t argue further. He just waits until you’re inside before closing the door and circling back to the driver’s side.

The second the engine turns over, you feel it. The full weight of it. Your body tingles, not in a good way now, but in that heavy, sluggish way that makes your limbs feel disconnected. Your head leans back against the seat, eyes slipping half closed before you force them open again.

You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have gone to the laundromat and talked to Joseph. You shouldn’t have said yes. You shouldn’t have gotten in this truck. You definitely shouldn’t have kissed him.

Your stomach twists violently. You press your lips together, staring straight ahead as the truck rolls forward, the party lights fading behind you.

What the fuck did you just do?

Your fingers curl slightly against your thigh. You imagine his face. The older man with the tired eyes and that mustache that scratches just enough when he kisses you. The way his jaw tightens when he’s pissed, the way his voice drops when he’s trying to stay calm. If he knew. If he saw you like that.

Your chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.

But then—

Another thought cuts through it. He lied to you. He knew. About the club. About your life. About something that mattered and decided you didn’t deserve to know.

Your jaw clenches.

“Fuck him,” you mutter under your breath.

Joseph glances at you briefly but doesn’t comment.

The drive back feels shorter this time. Or maybe you’re just too lost in your own head to notice the distance.

By the time he turns onto your street, the familiar stretch of road coming into view, you start trying to piece together something to say. Something normal. Something that puts a boundary back in place before this turns into something else entirely.

Your throat feels dry.

“Hey,” you start, pushing yourself upright slightly. “You’re—”

The truck slows. Your house comes into view. And then... you stop. Everything in you goes cold.

There’s a figure on your porch. Sitting. Still. Head down, shoulders tense, one hand gripping a phone like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He looks up the second the headlights hit him. And you know.

Fuck.

“Stop the truck,” you say, your voice sharp, immediate.

Joseph’s already slowing, confused.

“What—?”

“Just stop.”

He does.

The second the truck halts, you’re out.

The door swings open hard, your heels hitting dirt, kicking up dust as you move fast, too fast for how unsteady you actually are. You barely register Joseph behind you, the slam of his door, the sound of his footsteps.

All you see is Ted. Standing now. Already moving toward you.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demands, his voice tight, strained in a way you’ve never heard before.

But then he’s closer. And it shifts. His hands come up, not grabbing, just checking—your arms, your shoulders, your face.

“You okay?” he asks, softer now, searching your expression like he’s trying to make sure you’re real.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because behind you—

Joseph steps into the light. And everything changes. The older man’s head turns slowly. His eyes land on him. Then back to you. Then to him again. You feel it. The shift in the air.

“Who the fuck is that?” he asks, his voice dropping low.

Joseph freezes for a second. Then something clicks for him. You see it happen in real time. Recognition and shock.

“Wait,” Joseph says, his brows pulling together as he looks between the two of you. “You’re May—”

He stops himself, but it’s too late. He knows. Your stomach drops.

The older man steps slightly in front of you now, not blocking you, but close enough that it feels like it.

“Why is he holding your phone?” he asks, sharper now.

You stay silent for a second. Too long.

“Answer me.”

“Go inside,” you snap suddenly, your voice cutting through the tension.

He blinks.

“What?”

“I said go inside,” you repeat, louder now, your head pounding. “We’re not doing this out here.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you—”

“Go the fuck inside!” you shout, your voice cracking through the quiet street.

That stops him. Really stops him. For a second, neither of you moves. Then his jaw tightens. Hard. He looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you for a split second. Then he turns. Without another word. And walks into your house. The door shuts behind him.

The silence that follows is deafening. You turn back to Joseph, your chest rising and falling too fast.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, stepping toward him. “I didn’t—this isn’t—”

He raises a hand slightly.

“It’s fine,” he says, but it’s not fine.

You can hear it. See it.

“I didn’t know,” he adds, glancing toward your house.

“I know,” you say.

You reach into his pocket without thinking, grabbing your phone back.

“Thank you,” you mutter.

There’s a pause. Then, quieter...

“You should go.”

He nods slowly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Probably.”

You hesitate.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

He studies you for a second, then gives a small nod.

“Take care of yourself,” he says.

Then he turns. Gets in his truck. And leaves.

The sound of his engine fades into the distance, leaving you alone in the dark with everything you’ve been avoiding all night. You don’t give yourself time to think. You turn. March straight into your house.

The door slams behind you, loud enough to echo through the empty rooms.

“Ted!” you call out, your voice already edged with anger.

“Kitchen,” he responds immediately.

You head there, fast, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands clenched at your sides.

You round the corner—

And stop. Dead. Your breath catches.

Because the counter...

It’s covered. Photos. Scattered and familiar. Too fucking familiar. Your stomach drops so fast it feels like you’re falling.

The same photos. The ones you threw away. The ones you tried to pretend didn’t exist. There they are. Spread out like evidence. Like a warning. Like something that was never going to stay hidden.

You don’t even get a second to process it.

You don’t get to feel the shock fully, or the fear, or the creeping realization that whatever was circling the two of you is no longer circling—it’s here, it’s real, it’s sitting on your kitchen counter like proof that nothing about this has ever been safe.

Because he doesn’t care. Not about the photos. Not at first.

“What the fuck were you doing with him?” Ted demands, his voice cutting through the room sharp and immediate.

It hits you sideways.

You blink once, slow, your brain still stuck on the images in front of you—the ones you tried to throw away, the ones that somehow found their way back here, doubled, mirrored, multiplied into something you can’t ignore.

“What?” you say, but it comes out flat.

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Don’t play dumb. You show up here with some guy—some kid—and I’m supposed to just what? Ignore it?”

Your head turns toward him slowly. There it is. Anger. Possession.

Your jaw tightens.

“Where did you get these?” you ask instead, gesturing toward the counter.

He scoffs like you’ve just insulted him.

“Are you serious right now?” he says. “That’s what you care about right now?”

“Yeah,” you shoot back, sharper now. “That’s what I care about. Where did you get them?”

He stares at you for a second, something in his expression shifting, like he’s recalibrating, trying to decide which fire to put out first.

“There was an envelope,” he says finally, clipped. “Taped to my door when I got home.”

Your stomach drops again. Of course. Of fucking course. You shake your head, a bitter laugh slipping out before you can stop it.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Figures.”

He watches you, confused now, frustration building under his skin.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer. You don’t want to stand here. You don’t want to look at those photos. You don’t want to look at him.

So you turn on your heel and walk out of the kitchen.

“Hey—” he calls after you.

You ignore him. Your footsteps are heavy, fast, carrying you down the hallway toward your room like if you move quick enough, you won’t have to deal with what’s coming. Behind you, he follows.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he snaps, his voice louder now, filling the space, bouncing off the walls. “I’m fucking talking to you.”

You keep walking.

“Who the hell is that guy?” he presses. “Why is he bringing you home? Why did he have your phone?”

You don’t answer. Not a word. You step into your room, the stripped bed, the empty space, the lingering absence of everything that was here this morning hitting you all over again. It fuels you. It feeds something ugly and hot and overdue.

“Answer me,” he demands, right behind you now.

Still, nothing. And that—

That’s what does it. His hand grabs you. Hard.

Fingers digging into your shoulders, spinning you around before you can brace yourself, before you can stop it. Your back hits the wall with a dull thud, the impact rattling through you, your breath catching for just a second.

“Enough,” he says, his voice low and dangerous now, his face inches from yours. “What the hell is going on?”

Something in you snaps. You shove against his chest, not enough to move him, but enough to make your point.

“Do you love me?” you demand, your voice breaking out of you before you can stop it.

He blinks. Thrown.

“What?”

“Do you love me?” you repeat, louder now, your chest heaving. “Do you respect me? Do you even see a future with me, or is this just—” your hand gestures wildly between you, “—just nothing? Just something you come to when it’s convenient?”

His brows pull together, confusion flooding his expression.

“Where is this coming from?” he asks, genuinely lost now. “What are you talking about?”

You laugh. It’s sharp. Ugly.

“Don’t do that,” you snap. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I don’t,” he fires back. “You walk in here with another man, you won’t answer me, and now you’re—”

“I know,” you cut him off.

The words land heavy. He stills.

“What?” he asks, quieter now.

“I know,” you repeat, your voice dropping, steady but shaking underneath. “About everything.”

His expression changes.

“What are you talking about?” he says.

“Joe told me,” you say.

You see it. The flicker of realization.

“I went down to the station today,” you continue, your voice gaining momentum now, fueled by everything you’ve been holding in. “To protect you. Because he was messing with Jessa, because he was trying to get to you through me, and I thought—” you laugh again, bitter, “—I thought I was doing something for you.”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak.

“You didn’t think to tell me your bar is opening back up?” you demand. “You didn’t think that was something I should know?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face.

“I was going to tell you—”

“When?” you cut in, stepping closer now, not backing down. “After it happened? After everything was already decided?”

“It’s not like that,” he says quickly. “I just—I didn’t want to—”

“You didn’t want to what?” you snap. “Tell me the truth?”

He hesitates.

“No,” you say, your voice quieter now, more dangerous. “You didn’t.”

You take another step forward.

“And then there’s the Horseshoe,” you add.

He goes still. Completely still.

“You voted for it,” you say, each word sharp, deliberate. “Permanent fucking closure.”

Silence from him. You watch him. Watch the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes shift just slightly, like he’s searching for something to say and not finding it fast enough.

“That’s what I thought,” you say softly.

“I—” he starts.

“No,” you cut him off again. “Don’t. Don’t even try to spin it.”

He exhales, his shoulders dropping slightly, like something in him is finally giving in.

“I didn’t want it to happen like that,” he says.

“But it did,” you fire back.

“I had to—”

“You didn’t have to do shit,” you snap, your voice rising again. “You chose to.”

“It wasn’t that simple,” he says, frustration bleeding through now. “There were votes—there were numbers—I was already slipping in the polls and they told me if I didn’t—”

“They told you,” you repeat, your voice dripping with disbelief. “They told you, so you just went along with it?”

He steps forward now, his hands coming up like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare.

“I was trying to secure my position,” he says. “If I lost that seat, I couldn’t help anyone. Not you, not me, not the town—”

“You didn’t help me anyway,” you cut in.

That cuts him. You see it and you feel it.

“You didn’t protect me,” you continue, your voice quieter now but cutting deeper. “You didn’t even respect me enough to tell me.”

He looks at you like that’s the part that hurts the most. Because it is.

“I was going to tell you,” he insists, softer now, almost pleading. “I just—I didn’t want to lose you.”

You laugh.

“You already did,” you say.

He shakes his head immediately.

“No,” he says. “No, I didn’t. I just—I needed time, I needed to figure out how to—”

“You were too busy fucking me to say anything,” you snap, your voice breaking through whatever restraint you had left. “Too busy letting me believe everything was fine.”

“That’s not fair,” he says.

“Fair?” you echo. “You want to talk about fair?”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your hands shaking now, not from fear, but from the sheer force of everything coming out.

“You’re going to die alone,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Do you know that?”

He flinches. Actually flinches.

“With your shitty political career and your carefully planned speeches and your fake fucking morals,” you continue, relentless now. “That’s going to be your legacy. Not this. Not anything real. Just you, standing at a podium, pretending to give a shit about people you’re willing to screw over the second it benefits you.”

“Stop,” he says quietly.

But you don’t.

“You don’t get to have both,” you push. “You don’t get to have me and that. You don’t get to crawl into my bed at night and then turn around and destroy the only thing keeping me afloat without even telling me.”

“I didn’t destroy you,” he says, his voice rough now.

“You didn’t?” you shoot back. “Because it feels like you did.”

Silence crashes over the room. He stands there, just… looking at you. Like he’s trying to memorize this version of you. Like he’s realizing, maybe for the first time, that he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally.

It’s quiet but you can tell it's real.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, stepping closer, his voice breaking slightly. “I was selfish. I didn’t—I didn’t think about it the way I should have. I thought I could handle it, keep it separate, protect you from it—”

“By lying to me?” you interrupt.

He closes his eyes briefly.

“Yes,” he admits.

That honesty hits different. Worse.

“I love you,” he says, opening his eyes again, looking straight at you now. “I do. I love you more than I should. That’s why I messed this up.”

You don’t react. You can’t. Because something in you has already started shutting down.

“I didn’t want to lose this,” he continues, his voice softer, more desperate now. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You stare at him. At the man who held you this morning like nothing could touch you. At the man who just admitted he chose everything else anyway. And you feel…

Nothing. Not anger. Not sadness. Just… empty.

“That’s the problem,” you say quietly.

He goes still.

“You didn’t want to lose me,” you repeat. “But you were willing to risk everything that mattered to me to keep what you wanted.”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. There isn’t one.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, weaker this time.

You can feel it... the shift, the break, the quiet, irreversible snap of something that used to hold weight and now just… doesn’t. He sees it too. You know he does. Because the next thing he does is something you’ve never seen before.

He drops. Not slowly. Not carefully. Just... down. Like his legs gave out, like whatever was keeping him standing just couldn’t anymore. His knees hit the floor hard enough that you hear it, the dull impact echoing in the room.

“Ted—” you start, but the word dies in your throat.

He’s already shaking his head.

“No,” he says, his voice cracking, rough and uneven in a way that doesn’t match the man you know. “Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that right now.”

He drags a hand down his face, but it doesn’t help. Nothing about him looks put together anymore. Not his posture, not his voice, not the way his breathing stutters like he’s trying to hold something in and failing.

“I fucked up,” he says, the words coming out fast now, messy, like he’s afraid he won’t get them out in time. “I know I did. I know I did, I just—I thought I could fix it before you found out. I thought I could make it right first.”

Your chest tightens, but you don’t move.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues, his eyes glassy now, red at the edges. “I swear to you, I didn’t. I was trying to hold onto you, that’s all I was thinking about. You—just you.”

A tear slips down his cheek. You freeze. Because you’ve never seen him like this. Never.

“I love you,” he says again, quieter this time, like it’s the only thing he has left to offer. “I love you so much it makes me stupid. It makes me make decisions I shouldn’t make, it makes me selfish, and I know that—I know that now.”

His voice breaks completely on the last word.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he adds, barely above a whisper. “I can’t lose you.”

The room goes quiet around him. And you just stand there. Looking at him.

taglist @the-curator1 @eviispunk @dilfs4life69 @onlythehobi @vinyl-and-coffee @indiegirlunited @motomamita

[rifflovesjoey]

This will haunt me forever.

[gothcsz]

Javier was tired of pretending he still gave a damn about playing by the rules. He was over it, to be frank. Needed a fresh start somewhere new. And Las Vegas? Well, it doesn’t do rules. It does indulgence. It does distraction. It does sin.

🂱 After Hours | Javier Peña x Original Female Character [Written as Reader/“You”] 🂱

When your family stops funding your socialite scandals, you do what any heiress who’s lost everything does: take the pole working at a high-end strip club. That’s where you learn what happens After Hours when the city finally whispers its secrets. You capture the attention of Javier Peña, the newly promoted boss of the DEA’s Vegas branch, tasked with taking down criminal powerhouse The Ivory Saints. What follows is a volatile, addictive affair, dancing on the fault line between justice and corruption, desire and self-destruction, lust and power. No one truly knows who is using who.

RATING: E. Modern!AU. 18+. Explicit topics and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work.

🂱 series masterlist. | read on ao3. | playlist. | pinterest board. 🂱

A/N: based off one of my favorite albums of all time (after hours by the weeknd), i really wanted to make something that encapsulated this story the way it plays out in my head. so after weeks of contemplating, i finally decided to try my hand at video editing and thus this beautiful edit was born! it’s not perfect by any means—but i love it and am super excited to share it with my amazing readers as a trailer/visual/gift for a fic that i am having the most absolute fun writing and creating 🖤

If you are involved in sex work and need support, confidential help is available:

National Human Trafficking Hotline (U.S.): 1-888-373-7888 or text 233733 (BEFREE)

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (U.S.): call or text 988 for emotional support, 24/7

SWOP (Sex Workers Outreach Project): local chapters offer advocacy and resources

RAINN (for sexual violence support): 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)

Want to be part of the taglist? Feel free to fill out this form, DM me or reply to this post to be added ✨

🪩 : @almostempty . @almostfoxglove . @angiewatson . @cowboy-like-m3 . @cozymochaa . @missadangel . @crazysouthernlady . @jemsportfolio . @keylimebeag . @millermouth . @speaktothehandpeasants . @cloudyemsky . @thereaperisabitch . @correapunk . @littlefruitbowl . @prose-before-hoes . @kindahecticinside . @myownwholewildworld . @iknowisoundcrazy . @amourflores . @thewinterpunkass . @crumbs-from-the-algonquin . @nannniibobanni . @lemurianstarship . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @mandaloriankait . @kirsteng42 . @missladym1981 . @salingers . @picketniffler . @pascal-mynightlyobsession . @rosharanfiction . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @auteurdelabre . @dontlookatme121 .

[clairehadenough]

Enjoy your win while you still can. It won’t last long

Lmao 😂 I definitely don’t consider a couple going to a social event a win baby, but you thinking it is tells us how much of a loser you are🙊

[thelonesomequeen]

“It won’t last long” sounds a lot like “they’re gonna break up any day now” for the last three years 🤣🤣🤣🧜🏻‍♀️

[clairehadenough]

Remember ✨ JULY ✨ ?

[thelonesomequeen]

But they SAW the BUA, okay?! 🧜🏻‍♀️

[clairehadenough]

😆😆 ahhh good times 🥹

[callmecath1]

GUYS! There is a protocol to follow, don’t forget the ✨window ✨

[clairehadenough]

We were all freezing waiting for that window to close 😆

[callmecath1]

It’s the world’s widest window, taking 3 years and counting to close 😂

[clairehadenough]

Enjoy your win while you still can. It won’t last long

Lmao 😂 I definitely don’t consider a couple going to a social event a win baby, but you thinking it is tells us how much of a loser you are🙊

[thelonesomequeen]

“It won’t last long” sounds a lot like “they’re gonna break up any day now” for the last three years 🤣🤣🤣🧜🏻‍♀️

[clairehadenough]

Remember ✨ JULY ✨ ?

[thelonesomequeen]

But they SAW the BUA, okay?! 🧜🏻‍♀️

[clairehadenough]

😆😆 ahhh good times 🥹

[callmecath1]

GUYS! There is a protocol to follow, don’t forget the ✨window ✨

[livingthemarvellife]

Lisa posted Alma

I know. 😁

[callmecath1]

Proud grandma! 😍 I’m sure

[yummyanon]

Lol that capoteera is such a b*tch. You can tell she HATES Alboo but pretends to be a fan. Everyone can see who’s happy or not. They just don’t want to admit and act like this is some May-December fairytale. Dumbass loners.

Everyone post what ever they want! Some are just being paid to maintain a rhetoric according to a contract others are just confused in what they read on social media and continue commenting as a hobby. Alba just placed her self in a fucking contract that just sank her in a hole. Young and naive! Oh May- DECEMBER YOU SURELY KNOW MORE! sure papers will come Alba against Chris and Chris will just accept what ever to be out of a mess he alone created.

Actors and actresses stop messing with fans people know what’s up! The time can extend to cover the reality and look less messy but soon or later we all know…

[capoteera]

This is so beyond fucking stupid 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 I’m sorry I don’t live in a delusional wasteland like the rest of you idiots, and I wish I was getting paid for this because I’d donate some to fund your psychiatric care

[yummyanon]

She thinks she is so bold!!!! And so delusional educated. Conspiracy is 90% accurate at the end of. Meaning many of us just don’t care your uneducated standards.

[capoteera]

I’m uneducated because I live in reality? Ok sure Jan I’d rather be uneducated than delusional

[yummyanon]

Time will tell Summer -Fall 2026 will be historical and the one who will need some nice sucking lessons will be you

[capoteera]

You idiots have been saying it’s over since 2022 and all that has happened is a wedding and a baby 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 good luck with that

[yummyanon]

Show real pictures of no AI pictures and run on paper walks like baby sitting or without him cleaning his mouth after kissing… you know what get a better hobby.

[capoteera]

Get a psychiatrist 🤷🏻‍♀️ all the pics are real you just can’t cope with that idea so your psychosis tells you to believe it’s fake

[yummyanon]

[capoteera]

[callmecath1]

Time will tell Summer -Fall 2026 will be historical and the one who will need some nice sucking lessons will be you

Jajaja, see you in Summer 2026 in which Chris & Alba will still be married, and the again in the fall when they will STILL be married, who knows, maybe a second baby on the way.

How many times has that BUA that has been “ready” since 2023 2024. needs to be re-written? It’s.. so sad after so many years to still believe it’s fake.

[capoteera]

Wouldn't it be 5 years? Because if I'm not mistaken, in 2022 they had already been dating for a year. So from 2021 to 2026 is 5 years.

Probably mid 2021 they started dating so this would be going into year 5

[yummyanon]

5 years he looks like struggling and unhappy sorry but not sorry the same BS with Sebastian and Henry seems they ruined their careers with PR relationships. Sebastian looks super old and Chris Evans 😵‍💫

[capoteera]

[callmecath1]

“Struggling and Unhappy” yet, he looked quite happy and in shape at the TIFF festival, he looked quite happy in Australia, he looked quite happy during the Materialist premiere speaking about his proposal.

He even looked very happy at the Vanity Fair red carpet a few years ago, and he looked happy at the comic con convention when he announced he was married.

I swear these delulus are projecting their own struggles and unhappiness because he’s married and has a baby.

[capoteera]

They tell themselves that lie so they can justify their actions and feelings about him being married. It also makes them feel like it’s not because they’re jealous but that they’re worried about him because he looks sad. It’s all a coping mechanism

[callmecath1]

Oh right, I keep forgetting they know Chris, a man they never met, better than anyone, including Chris himself.

Pathetic.

[capoteera]

Wouldn't it be 5 years? Because if I'm not mistaken, in 2022 they had already been dating for a year. So from 2021 to 2026 is 5 years.

Probably mid 2021 they started dating so this would be going into year 5

[yummyanon]

5 years he looks like struggling and unhappy sorry but not sorry the same BS with Sebastian and Henry seems they ruined their careers with PR relationships. Sebastian looks super old and Chris Evans 😵‍💫

[capoteera]

[callmecath1]

“Struggling and Unhappy” yet, he looked quite happy and in shape at the TIFF festival, he looked quite happy in Australia, he looked quite happy during the Materialist premiere speaking about his proposal.

He even looked very happy at the Vanity Fair red carpet a few years ago, and he looked happy at the comic con convention when he announced he was married.

I swear these delulus are projecting their own struggles and unhappiness because he’s married and has a baby.

[coppersaladstories-deactivated2]

ruin me part 12

rating: X (not for minors) \ 22.5k words/bf dad joel miller x female reader

tags: if you don't like smut and morally ambiguous characters this is not the fic for you. there is adultery, thigh fucking, creampies, downright filthy talk, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, keeping quiet, public sex, possessive joel miller and that isn't even all of it.

tldr: you accidentally fuck your bf's dad and then you keep fucking him.

masterlist

i tried very hard to keep this chapter short but it was impossible. I'm also under hella deadlines in the real world so this is not edited. i hope you like it and i figure for 22k words I deserve some long ass comments right? I have loved reading all your comments and I will say that this chapter clears up ONE BIG MYSTERY.

that being said there is actually too much to put into one chapter so there is another one being added fyi

I am not able to tag anymore people because tumblr is weird. Just know this story has a posting schedule you can find on the masterlist.

Each believed the other a murderer of time, a destroyer of life itself. - Joan Didion

One month later

"Do we have that wine that Tommy brought us?"

"Yeah, check above the fridge." 

It’s been almost a month since Jack and I moved into the apartment, long enough for the sharpness of change to dull into a steady rhythm. 

My internship ended around the same time, the official reason for leaving Miller Brothers  

Construction, and despite Tommy’s begging, I decided to try my hand at something new.

The new job is closer to the apartment, tucked inside a small but ambitious architecture firm where I juggle social media campaigns and light design work. My coworkers are all professional and sharp, their smiles brief and their workload heavy. It's nothing like Miller Brothers Construction. No laughs over shitty coffee, no Luna giggling with Tommy. I don’t have the same level of responsibility but there’s something exciting about learning again, about building a skill set I didn’t know I’d enjoy.

Still, there are mornings when I catch myself missing the hum of the old office. I miss the constant movement. I miss the way Tommy’s voice would carry across the bullpen when he wanted my opinion, the way Joel would glance up from whatever he was working on if I happened to walk past. I felt valued there, more than I probably realized at the time. But after that night after coming home and hearing Joel and Tess through the wall, the quiet that followed, the weight of pretending it hadn’t happened, I couldn’t go back.

Moving day had been stressful, not in the traditional sense, since we didn’t have much to bring, but Joel told Jack he’d help with the move and by the time the mattress was wedged into the bed frame, my stomach had felt like it was full of cement. 

The apartment had smelled like fresh paint and faint mildew, not enough to worry about, just enough to remind me that someone else’s life had been here before ours. Sunlight spilled through the wide front windows, catching on dust motes drifting in the air. It was a fresh start for all of us.

Jack wiped his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, grinning like we’d just conquered something monumental.

“Almost done,” he’d said voice buoyant.

Joel was on the other side of the mattress, adjusting the frame with quiet precision, eyes low. He didn’t say anything, but his forearms flexed with the motion, veins standing out against skin flushed from the work.

We hadn’t interacted since Houston, and the air between us had a weight. It had been there since the moment Jack announced we were leaving.

I’d avoided being in a room alone with him all day, finding boxes that needed unpacking in the kitchen, disappearing into the bathroom with a roll of shelf liner. And yet, somehow, there we were always on the precipice of interaction.

“Careful on that corner, Dad,” Jack said to Joel, crouching to check the bed legs. “I don’t wanna scratch the floor. The landlord’s a stickler.”

Joel nodded, wordless, his eyes flicking up to me for only a second. It wasn’t much of a look, just a flash, barely enough to register, but it landed like a blow. My stomach had knotted, dragging me back to the night that ended the whole arrangement.

Joel straightened then, brushing his palms together, and stepped back from the bed. “That’s it,” he said, voice low.

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Dad. Thanks for letting us use the truck.”

“Anytime.” Joel’s gaze slid past Jack to me, his expression guarded. I couldn’t tell if it was for my sake or his.

Jack headed toward the kitchen, muttering something about ordering pizza. “Veggie?”

I’d nodded, but my voice didn’t seem to work.

Joel stayed where he was, just inside the doorway, his hat shadowing his eyes. He looked like he was going to say something, lips parting but Jack called from the kitchen, asking about toppings, and the moment slipped.

“I should get goin’,” Joel said instead, his voice carrying the faintest rasp. He adjusted the brim of his cap like it was something to keep his hands busy.

Jack reappeared, phone in hand. “Sure? You can’t stay? We’re ordering enough for-”

“Naw.” Joel had already been moving toward the door, his boots heavy on the new laminate. “Got stuff to do for your mom.”

I’d flinched, stepping aside as he passed, and for a fraction of a second, our arms nearly brushed. I caught the scent of sawdust and clean sweat, the smell of him, and my chest felt too tight.

Joel paused with his hand on the doorknob. He didn’t look at me again, just stepped out into the fading afternoon. When the door closed behind him, the apartment felt silent. And in that quiet, it hit me how much stronger my feelings for him had grown.

It wasn’t just the sex I remembered, though that alone would have been enough to haunt me. It was the way he’d kissed me like he meant it, held me like I was something worth keeping. The hours we’d spent talking, sometimes about nothing at all, the kind of conversations that made the rest of the world fade.

Those were the moments that had crept in without warning, the ones I couldn’t box up and leave behind no matter how far we moved. And when I showered that evening I'd had to muffle my sobs in my hands, his name on my tongue, his voice in my ears. 

----------------------------------------------------------

Anne and Logan arrive just after seven, arms full; a bottle of wine, a paper bag from the bakery down the street, Anne’s cardigan already slipping off one shoulder from the rush of coming in from the evening air.

“Wow,” Anne says, stepping inside and glancing around our small apartment. “You guys settled in fast.”

Jack beams, taking the wine from her. “We had no choice, someone refused to live with boxes everywhere,” he teases, tilting his head toward me.

I roll my eyes but smile anyway, ushering them toward the table I set earlier. It’s nothing fancy, just mismatched placemats, a candle in the middle, but I’d taken my time with it, wanting the place to look inviting. 

Logan trails behind Anne, his usual sharp-edged sarcasm absent. “Place is nice,” he says, pulling out a chair. “Good light.” It’s such a small comment, but from him, it almost feels like a compliment. "Mind if I grab a glass of water?" He asks, moving to the cupboard to bring down one of our old mugs. He drinks fast, his eyes flicking to me once or twice. 

We eat in easy bursts of conversation. Jack tells a story about the building’s temperamental elevator. Anne asks questions about my new job, polite ones, the kind that leave her a safe distance from anything personal. Her smile doesn’t always reach her eyes, but it’s not icy. 

After dinner, we break out a stack of board games. Jack suggests Codenames and Logan smirks like he’s already won. Since I'm sitting opposite him we're a team. 

“You two are going down,” Logan says to Jack and Anne as he places the cards down for the group.

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re that confident?”

“Always.” He smirks again, but it’s softer this time, not the jab it might have been months ago. 

The game turns competitive quickly, Jack and Anne on one team, Logan and me on the other. There’s laughter, the occasional groan when someone misses an obvious clue, and even Logan’s muttered swears are more amused than annoyed.

At one point, when I get a particularly risky word right, Logan grins across the table at me. “Nice. Told you we’d crush them.”

Anne leans back in her chair, shaking her head. “You two make a scary team.”

By the time the last round ends, there’s an ease in the air I didn’t expect. The wine is nearly gone, the candle burned low. Even Anne’s smile looks less guarded as she gathers her things to leave.

“Thanks for having us,” she says at the door, her tone almost warm.

Logan nods after her and to my surprise, pulls me in for a gentle hug. His fingertips linger on my shoulder and for the first time since we met, I feel like we might just be friends after all. 

----------------------------------------------------------

The dresser looked harmless enough in the shop, pale wood, clean lines, the kind of thing Jack nudged me about and says, This would look perfect in the bedroom, right? I nodded, imagining it against the blank wall by the window, a little piece of permanence in our still-new apartment.

Now it sits in its flat-pack box in the corner of the living room, a silent challenge we’ve been stepping around for days. Jack finally slices the tape open, pulls out the thin booklet of instructions printed in six languages, and mutters under his breath.

“Yeah, no,” he says, flipping a page. “We don’t have half the stuff for this.”

I’m curled up on the couch with my laptop, half-listening, still tangled in work emails I didn’t finish before leaving the office.

“I’ll text my dad,” Jack says, dropping the booklet onto the coffee table. “He’s got everything in his garage.”

I hum in response, barely looking up; I'm too involved in the email chain from one of my bosses. The cushions dip beside me. Jack’s hands slide up my shoulders, warm and firm, his thumbs kneading into the knots there.

“You’ve been tense lately,” he murmurs near my ear.

I tip my head back without thinking, eyes fluttering closed. He’s been like this a lot lately, attentive in a way he never used to be. Folding laundry before I can get to it. Picking up my favorite snacks without asking. Asking about my day and actually listening.

Jack's hands leave me when his phone buzzes. He reads the text. "My mom wants to know if we're free for dinner this Sunday." 

My chest tightens. I’ve been making up excuses for weeks, excuses to avoid going back to that house, to avoid seeing her, to avoid the awkward questions about my life, about Jack, all the while ignoring the mess I’ve made of everything.

"I'm not sure," I say quietly. "I'll see if I'm working late that day."

He smiles, kissing my cheek and then announcing that he and Logan are meeting up with some guys to try the new VR arcade. 

"Have fun!" 

He leaves and I stretch back on the couch feeling restless.  We haven’t been having much sex, but I don’t mind. He’s being so sweet and thoughtful. The only sex I want is with Joel, and I obviously can’t have that anymore. I think about it, fantasize about it, and touch myself to it. I deleted all our texts and photos in my rage and some nights I regret it. 

But then I look over at my sleeping boyfriend and feel this love crash over me. I tell myself I made the right decision, even if it does feel like a mistake. 

Knock knock. Knock. 

The knock comes later that night while I’m half asleep on the couch. My mind is on Joel, thoughts of what he's doing right this moment. Is he with Tess? Are they happy? I shouldn't be upset at the thought. 

I don’t think much of it at first; Jack probably forgot his keys, or maybe one of his friends is swinging by early. I’m halfway through setting the knife down when I open the door.

It’s Luna. Her eyes are red-rimmed, makeup smudged just enough to make me realize she hasn’t been home to fix it. Her shoulders look too small for the oversized blazer she’s wearing, like she’s shrunk into herself on the walk over.

“Hey,” she says, voice thin. “I’m sorry, I didn- didn’t know who else to talk to.”

My brain immediately switches gears. “Hey," I push the door open wider. “Come in. Are you okay?”

She nods, but it’s that automatic, empty kind of nod that tells me she's the polar opposite of okay. The moment she steps inside, I catch the faint smell of office coffee on her clothes. She clutches her tote bag to her chest like its armor.

“Sit,” I tell her, steering her toward the couch. I don’t even wait for her to take her shoes off before I’m heading to the kitchen. “Tea?”

She sinks into the cushions, her knees drawn together, both hands wrapped around that bag like she’s afraid if she lets go of it, she’ll fall apart.

“Yes, please,” she murmurs.

While the kettle boils, I keep glancing over at her. She’s not looking at me, just staring at some point in the middle distance like she’s trying to keep herself from crying again. When I bring over two mugs and set one in front of her, she thanks me in a whisper.

“What’s going on?” I ask gently, curling my own hands around my cup.

She takes a sip like she’s buying herself time, then swallows hard. "It's Tommy." She takes a deep breath. "Okay, so, I’ve liked Tommy for a while. Pretty much since my first day.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. I know.”

"I think everyone did." She lets out a short, shaky laugh, but it dies quickly. “Well, right before the Houston conference I asked him out. Like, directly for drinks after work. No group thing, no pretending it was casual.”

I lean back, eyebrows lifting. “Bold.”

“Yeah,” she says, a little bitterly. “Bold. He said yes. And we had such a good time. Laughing and kissing and then that night we-” She stops, eyes darting away. “We hooked up. It was so good, so good. I figured this was it. He said he wanted to focus on the conference and that when he got back we'd talk. 

“You thought you’d ease into a relationship,” I supply gently.

“Exactly.” She stares down into her tea. “So I played it cool when he got back last month. Didn’t text too much. Tried not to come across as clingy. I wanted him to feel like it was easy, you know?”

I nod, because I do know. Too well. I keep my expression neutral, just listening.

"But I noticed he was a little more aloof, a little colder," her fingers tighten on her mug. “And then today he came by the office.” There’s a shift in her voice, a small crack that tells me the worst is coming. “He had this woman named Maria with him,” she says, like the name is something sour she has to spit out. “The big wig at Whonstar." 

"Yeah, I know her."

"He was so touchy with her and I was already like, huh, okay, that’s new. But then as I'm leaving I saw them by his truck. Kissing.”

My stomach twists, because I can picture the scene too clearly. 

Luna swallows hard. “Apparently they’ve been dating in secret since that conference..." She trails off, pressing her lips together.

"Yeah, I had a feeling," I say carefully.

Her eyes snap to mine. "What?"

I shrug a little, wishing I could rewind the last five seconds. “I mean when they met at the conference, it was pretty obvious sparks.”

Her brows knit, a flush creeping up her cheeks, not embarrassment this time, but anger. “So you knew.”

“I didn’t know they were dating,” I say quickly. “I thought it was just-”

“You thought it was what? That they were flirting? That Tommy might be into someone else?” Her voice is rising, each question sharper than the last. “And you didn’t think to mention that to me?”

“Luna,” I start, leaning forward, “I didn’t know you and Tommy had slept together. I thought it was a casual crush-”

Her laugh is short and humorless. “Right. A casual crush that you could watch crash and burn without saying a word.”

“That’s not fair,” I say, heat prickling at my neck. “If I’d known-”

“You've seen me throw myself at Tommy again and again,” she cuts in. “You just let me make a complete idiot of myself.”

I bite back the instinct to defend myself again. She’s too wound up, too raw. Anything I say now will only pour fuel on it. She sets her mug down with a sharp clink, grabbing her tote bag. “Thanks for the tea,” she says, voice clipped.

“Luna-”

"I sure hope you're not humiliated like this one day," she says spitefully my way. And just like that, she’s at the door, yanking it open as Jack’s key turns in the lock. He steps inside, surprised to see her passing by.

“Uh, hey,” he says, eyebrows lifting.

She barely glances at him. “Hi. Bye.”

Jack turns to me, confused, as I shut the door behind her. I lean against the door for a moment, my chest heavy.

Jack’s voice is soft. “Everything okay?”

I just shake my head, my stomach heavy. “She just needed to talk.”

I watch through the front window as Luna disappears down the street, her shoulders still hunched, and I feel the ache settle in for her. Because I know better than most what it’s like to think you’re starting something and realize you were only ever a momentary stop for someone else.

----------------------------------------------------------

The next afternoon, I’m driving home from work when Jack’s name flashes across my dashboard.

“Hey,” I say, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

He sounds distracted, anxious. “Babe, I totally spaced, one of the guys at the clinic called in sick, so I’ve got to cover his last two patients and do the paperwork. I won’t be home for, like, another two hours.”

“That’s fine,” I say, merging onto the main road. “I’ll start dinner later.”

“Thanks for understanding,” he says quickly. “Seriously, thank you, babe. Gotta go.”

The line clicks dead before I can respond.

By the time I get home, the apartment feels quiet in a way that’s almost too loud. I curl up on the couch with a blanket and my book, but the words blur after a few pages. My mind keeps drifting back to the dresser, the rhythm of chopping vegetables I haven’t started yet, the soft hum of traffic outside.

Eventually, I head to the kitchen to start dinner, deciding to put some aside for Jack to reheat when he gets home. The knife slices through vegetables in steady motions, the sound small and satisfying. I’m halfway through chopping when there’s a knock at the door.I wipe my hands on a towel, a teasing smile already forming.

“Did you forget your keys again?” I call, expecting Jack’s familiar sheepish grin. I pull the door open, ready with something playful. But it’s not Jack.It’s Joel.

He stands in the hallway in a faded gray T-shirt under an open flannel, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is mussed, as if he’s been running his hands through it, and the late light catches in the stubble along his jaw.

He holds a large metal toolbox in one hand, walking in with the easy confidence that always makes my chest tighten.

“Hey,” he says casually, but there’s an edge to it, like he knows exactly what he’s doing by standing there.

I swallow. “Hi.” My voice is too soft. "Why are you-"

He shifts the toolbox slightly, brushing past me without waiting for an invitation. “Jack asked me to drop these off. Dresser assembly, right?”

“Yeah.” I try to sound casual, too casual, leaning against the doorframe. “Thanks.”

There’s a pause, and then he tilts his head. My eyes track him as he notices the little things I’ve done: the small potted plant on the windowsill, the framed photo on the coffee table, the shelf I’ve managed to fill with books and mementos without making it look cluttered.

“This looks real nice,” he says finally, voice low but genuine. His gaze flicks to mine for a moment, and there’s a hesitation there, like he’s not sure he should be saying it.

"Thanks, Jack let me have free reign in here."

"You did a good job."

We lapse into silence and when he doesn't make a move to leave immediately I feel my chest tighten and impulsively, I gesture toward the kitchen. "Want something to drink? Water, beer?”

“Water’s fine,” he says, still careful, still just a little stiff around me. I'm shocked he agreed to it. 

I grab a bottle and pour it into a glass, setting it in his hand. His fingers brush mine briefly, light, casual, but enough to make a small pulse of electricity spike through me. 

I hand him the glass of water, and he takes it, fingers brushing mine again. “Thanks,” he says, eyes flicking to mine, then quickly away.

“So,” I say, leaning against the counter. “How’s the Leeds project going? Still a mess?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “You have no idea. Luna's convinced that she’s in line for a promotion already.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Luna? Really? She’s got ambition, I’ll give her that.”

“Ambition is one thing,” Joel says, leaning against the counter opposite me. “Delusion is another.” He shrugs. “But I guess she’s learning.”

I smile, amused. “Sounds like the office hasn’t changed a bit.”

He grins faintly. “Tommy is barely any help some days. Every time Maria stops by the office he's like a puppy following her around.”

“He must really like her," I murmur, wincing as I think of Luna. “People act ridiculous when they like someone." 

There’s a beat of quiet, the kind that settles between old lovers. Then he nods toward the bedroom where the dresser components sit. “You know I could just build it myself,” he says, casual, but I can see the slight edge in his tone.

I open my mouth to protest, but before I can, he’s shrugging off his flannel, sleeves rolling up. The tool belt shifts with the motion, and I catch the pinch of his waist. My chest tightens, but I force my attention back to our conversation.

"Uh, sure, if you have time." 

"I got time." 

I lead him into the bedroom, feeling suddenly shy. The rumpled bedsheets, the water glasses beside the bed, Jack's socks by the hamper. It's all so intimate and I watch Joel note this before his attention goes to the dresser. 

Joel’s eyes flick to mine briefly, then back to the dresser parts spread on the floor. “You don't have to stay if you don't want."

"You want me to go?" 

"No,” he says too quickly and my stomach flips. “i mean, you can stick around if you want to, but if you're busy-"

"I'm not busy." 

It's a lie and we both know it. My dinner is half cooked outside the door. He shrugs, eyes lingering on mine just a moment longer than necessary, then bends down to examine the dresser pieces again.

There’s a quiet confidence in the way he moves, a familiarity in the way he handles tools, and I realize how much I want to touch him. Joel crouches, sorting screws and panels with methodical precision. I hover nearby, trying not to watch too closely, but I can’t help it, the way his muscles flex when he lifts the heavier pieces, the way his forearms glint in the late afternoon light.

The apartment is quiet except for the small sounds of the toolbox and the faint rustle of papers and plastic. I can’t look at him without feeling that same electric tension I always do when he's near. 

“You happy at your new job?" he asks suddenly, not looking at me, just fitting a dowel into a slot.

"Yeah." 

He pauses, just a fraction, then shrugs and mutters, “Good. That’s good to hear.”

His fingers move quickly, almost nervously, tightening a screw. Then, quieter, almost to himself, he adds, “I miss having you around in the office, though. S'not the same without you there.”

My stomach twists. The words are casual, but they land hard. I can feel my heart stutter, the old, bitter-sweet ache flaring up, the same ache I remember from the night I heard him and Tess through the wall. 

The memory hits me sharply, the warmth of his hands, the weight of his body, the sound of his voice carrying over everything. You're mine. Tell me your mine 

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Sometimes I miss the chaos of the place,” I say softly, and immediately wish I’d said nothing.

He glances up, one eyebrow quirking. “Chaos?”

I shrug, fiddling with a kitchen towel. “Luna's antics around the office, Tommy's bad jokes.”

You and me fighting the attraction I still feel for you now. You and me fucking over your desk.

Joel nods slowly, returning to the dresser. There’s a tension between us now, the kind that hums under the surface. We don't speak for a bit and Joel builds quickly, his focus fascinating me. 

My chest tightens whenever he bends over the dresser, the curve of his back just slightly exposed, the strength in his hands as he manipulates the tools. I tell myself to focus on Jack, to focus on the life I have here, but it’s useless. 

He's almost finished when he talks again, so quietly I almost don't hear him.  "And you're happy. With your life?" 

I can feel the old flutter of feelings creeping in, the ones I’ve tried to ignore for months. "Yeah." 

Joel crouches over the dresser, tightening a screw to affix the mirror in place and without looking at me, he asks, his voice casual but insistent. "Jack makes you happy?”

"He does." 

Joel's mouth tightens as he fixates on the dresser. "Good," he says coolly. "That's real good. Me and Tess are doin' good too." 

Something in me snaps when he says that. The calm I’ve been holding shatters, replaced by a hot, sharp anger I can’t contain. My hands clench at my sides. "Well that's good," I say with false cheer. "Glad to know she's back to fucking you." 

Joel freezes mid-motion, his eyes snapping to mine. “What did you just say?”

I take another step, letting the words cut. “I mean, before, she barely touched you, right? I guess its good we moved out. Now you guys can have a second honeymoon. Is she all over you like before?”

Joel’s face goes quiet, but the tension radiates off him like heat. There’s a sharp edge to his eyes, the kind that makes me take a small, instinctive step back even as I try to hold my ground. “And I’m supposed to believe Jack is fuckin' you properly?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Couldn’t even make you cum before." 

He stops, gripping the dresser like it’s the only thing keeping him steady.

I press, watching him. “Well, he does now,” I say, a vicious tilt to my smile. “Fucks better than his old man, now.”

He straightens slowly, jaw tight, every movement deliberate, and for a heartbeat, the room feels smaller, the tension impossible to ignore He’s close now, but not touching, and every instinct screams at me, both to retreat and to push him further.

Joel sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his heavy stare fixed on me. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

His hand shoots out, surprising me when he curls it around my upper arm. I gasp when he drags me to the bed, pushing me to bend over the side, my chest flushed with the sheets. I hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the hum of his zipper. 

"He's... He's going to be back soon," I hiss, terrified of being caught, terrified at the thought of stopping. 

"Then he can see me fuckin' what's mine,” he mutters angrily as he pushes my jeans down my legs, thrusting my panties to the side. And without preamble he thrusts into me, his cock thick, but easily taken because I am so fucking wet.

“I-I’m not yours,” I whimper.

"Think you are mine," Joel grunts, hips smacking rudely against my ass. "Think this cunt's been mine since the first time I fucked it."

My hands are gripping the sheets, body being thrust up the bed by the force of him. His teeth grit together as he thrusts, his balls slapping against my ass brutally.n "I don't like seein' you with him." He mutters to himself but I hear it.

I look over my shoulder at him, feeling my heartbeat everywhere. He groans, deep and ragged, the sound vibrating through me, and I see the flicker of anger in his eyes, anger at himself, at the situation, at how badly he’s unraveling

 "What?"

"I don't like him touchin' you. I had to sit there and watch him take you away. Had to listen to you cumming. I'm fuckin furious that he's just allowed to touch you like that in front of me." 

I glare at him over my shoulder, chest rising and falling against the mattress, my own anger and frustration matching his. "He's my boyfriend, Joel." 

"I don't give a shit," he snaps quietly. "When you're with me, my cock in your cunt, your mine."

He's so deep, filling me, and I have to remind myself that we agreed this was just physical. No strings, just desire. And yet when Joel's hands pull me back and he buries himself to the hilt I can't help but moan his name. 

"Look at me."

I look over my shoulder weakly, whimpering when I see the feral look in his eyes. 

“Say I'm the best you've ever had,” he growls, breath hot against my shoulder, the words low and rough, but urgent. “Better than him. Better than Jack.” 

I swallow hard, my eyes rolling back as he fucks into me. I shouldn't say it. I shouldn't. The wet sound of his cock pumping into my cunt is overwhelming. 

He gives a furious growl, dragging me up onto the bed and positioning me on all fours opposite the dresser he's just built, the mirror propped on top of it. His hips slam into mine with a sharp snap. When my eyes graze the view of us in the mirror I can see us half dressed, cheeks pink, eyes glazed.  Joel is staring down at me and then his wide hand goes between my shoulders to push me down.  

My cheek is buried in the sheets, my eyes over my shoulder at him. His eyes are dark, intense, searching, and I catch that spark of competitiveness, that edge I’ve never seen so raw.

He lets out a low, frustrated growl, "You're mine. You're fucking mine," biting down on his lower lip, as if my words are both a balm and a torment. And then he thrusts harder, faster, wanting proof, wanting to feel it in every shiver that wracks my body. 

I'm drooling, actually drooling, my eyes tilted back, my arms useless at my sides. I'm just a vessel, a thing for him to fuck his frustrations into and I welcome it. I need it more than I need to breathe in this moment. 

I'm his. I'm his. I'm his. 

"Oh darlin’," he says with a mix of dark amusement and desire, "just letting me use this perfect cunt. Because she's mine, isn't it she?" 

When I don’t answer he shifts, suddenly more insistent, pressing deeper, as if he’s testing something, not just his control, but me. His hands clutch my hips, holding me in place as he leans closer, his forehead brushing my neck. 

"Good girl. Good girl takin' my cock."

My body shivers at the words, heat pooling between us, and I whine his name half in need, half in awe of how commanding he is.

"Look at yourself," he orders angrily. "Look at that fucking little slut in the mirror droolin’ like a bitch in heat. You're telling me that this cock isn't the best you've ever had?" 

When I don't look I feel his hand weave through my hair, pulling my face up to watch as my body is at his mercy. His eyes glitter menacingly. I can barely focus on the mirror, he's thrusting so hard and it feels so good. I can make out his hulking frame over mine, the way he's on one knee, the other foot planted for extra power. I can see it in his eyes he’s unraveling, but he wants to know, needs to know, that he’s the one I choose, the one I want.

His large hand moves down my belly, between my legs where my clit strains, twitching at the contact of his fingers. He scrubs at it, knowing just how much pressure, just how much circling to apply before I’m trembling.

Joel’s rhythm grows harsher, deeper, his grip on me iron-tight like he’s holding on for dear life. Each thrust slams me further up the bed, pillows pushed to the floor. 

"This pretty pussy mine?"

I can't think, I'm so close to cumming. He holds my waist, watching my reflection to see my tits bounce under my shirt, then down to where he's sawing in and out of my soaked cunt. His teeth are bared, he looks crazed.

“Say it.”

I'm trying not to say it out loud. Trying to remember Jack and that this is his dad and that he's married and... He's mine. 

"Yes," I finally cry out, pushing myself to my elbows as he drives into me. 

"Who fucks you the way you need?"

"You, Joel." My orgasm comes on strong, my arms and legs trembling. "F-fuck, you're the best I've ever had." 

He's pumping in and out of me at a frantic pace, the wet of our slapping sexes so loud and I cum all over him, almost screaming his name as he keeps pumping. I hear the breathless chuckle, and when I can finally drag my eyes to the mirror I see his boyish smile, victorious.

"I knew it." 

I squeak when he pulls out, twisting me onto my back and burying himself in me at this angle, his arms coming to hold me, palms spread wide against my shoulder blades. 

"Say it again."

"You're the best I've ever had."

His mouth slams into mine and I feel the brush of his tongue, tentative but probing. It’s an electric shock, a fire that spreads from my mouth down my chest. My own lips part, meeting his, responding instinctively, and a soft sound escapes me. 

He hums against me, a low, vibrating sound that sinks straight into my ribs, making my heartbeat stutter as he pushes himself deeper and deeper. He groans into my neck, hips still pounding, but I can feel him listening.

"Who do you belong to?"

My breathing is coming out in low puffs, voice trembling. "M-my pussy belo-"

"No, all of you," he interrupts, forehead to mine. "All of you." 

His hips move slowly now, intense and drawn out. His eyes hold like as he sinks into me, our hearts beating in tandem. And suddenly the fire of my anger is gone. I wrap my legs around his middle, mouth meeting his gently.

"I'm yours," I whisper against his lips.  

"Yeah?" He grunts and I feel the pace pick up. But it's not brutal like before, it's tender, like he can't stop touching me, bringing out my whimpers. "You're mine?"

"Y-yes," I moan, feeling his mouth at my throat. 

Something shifts in him, the strain in his jaw, the way his thrusts deepen, like he’s chasing something more than just release. His hand comes up to grip my chin, forcing my eyes to his.

"Repeat it," he murmurs. "Say it again, baby. Say it with my cock in you." 

"I'm yours," I moan, body jerking under him, fingers wrapping around his biceps. "Yours, Joel."

He lets out a deep, broken groan, his forehead pressing to mine, hips hammering in a pace that makes my whole body tense toward the edge.

"I fuckin' love this'," he groans, kissing me deeply as he holds me to him. "Fuckin' love this cunt, fucking love you-"

It comes out as a ramble but once we both hear it his movements slow to a stop. My eyes are wide, staring up at him. My legs lower, parted on either side of his hips as he pulls out of me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tucking himself back into his jeans, hurriedly redoing his belt. "I'm sorry darlin', I didn't..."

"It's okay," I say with a forced laugh. But something is happening in my stomach. Something that feels dangerously like hope and desire.  

He looks at me for a long time, before he flops onto the bed next to me. I lift my hips, tugging up my jeans as I look at him. My clothes feel awkward on my skin, clinging in places that remind me of what we were just doing, how fast we stopped

"Joel, really, it's fine." 

He’s quiet for a while, staring up at the ceiling like there’s something written there just for him. I think about how Tess is at home waiting for him. About how this is how it always is, his little fuck-toy when he’s horny. His eyes flick to mine, dark and unreadable, and I can’t tell if he’s going to argue, apologize, or pull me back under him.

"I hated hearing you with her,” I burst out, voice low but trembling.

Joel freezes and blinks over at me, confusion and surprise flickering across his face. “What are you talkin’ about?”

I can feel my chest tightening, the old ache twisting into something fiercer. "That night we came home from the conference I heard you and Tess in bed. I hated it. I hated it so much.”

His expression shifts slowly, comprehension dawning, but there’s also that tension I know too well, the quiet, uncomfortable pause when he realizes what I heard. “I didn’t know you heard,” he says carefully, voice low. "I didn't know you were there." 

“Obviously. Why would you?” My voice cracks with frustration and longing both. “You we're so busy hating me that day. And what I still can't understand is why."  

The words hang in the air sour and heavy, when I push myself upright. The mattress dips under my shifting weight, the blanket crumpling beneath my palms as I shove it aside. My knees fold under me as I swing around to sit cross-legged, facing him fully now.

I can feel the heat in my face, the way my heartbeat is lodged high in my throat. Anger makes my movements sharper, more deliberate, shoulders squared, chin lifted. I’m not hiding it. Not from him.

"Why you would be so upset with Jack and me when you were so eager to run home to Tess and remind me that she was yours?" hate how my voice tremors. "Why demand that I tell you I'm yours tonight? Is that just your preferred dirty talk?"

Joel’s eyes follow me warily, his brow knitting, and after a beat, he moves too. He sits up slow, like he’s bracing himself, one forearm resting on his thigh while the other hand scrubs at the back of his neck. 

We’re both upright now, face-to-face in the dim light, and the space between us feels smaller than it did lying down. I stop myself from saying more. From saying what I really want. That i want him like that. That i think I might be falling for him. But instead I lean into the anger, the heartbreak, the unspoken desire. 

Joel swallows, his jaw tight. The flannel he shrugged off earlier now seems like armor, the edges of his mouth pulled in. Finally, his voice is low, deliberate. “That night I was pretending she was you.”

I freeze. "What?" The sheet bunches between us, an uneven line, like some kind of physical border. His posture is tense, chest rising and falling heavier now, jaw working. 

“Tess was all over me when I got home that night and," His voice falters for just a second, and then he forces it out. "I'd had to listen to you and Jack that night before." 

My face burns. "It didn't mean anything." 

"Yeah, well…" Joel shrugs. "I was hurt and she was touchin' me and wanted me in bed. But I couldn't stop thinking about you the whole time."

I blink at him, shocked, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. The rawness of it catches me off guard, my chest tightening in a mix of disbelief and that old ache I thought I’d buried.

His anger comes next, a rush of emotion I can’t ignore. "I couldn’t stop thinking how wrong it was, fucking my wife and feelin' guilty about it. That I wanted to be buried in my son's girlfriend instead." 

My breathing stutters.

"I couldn't get you out of my head," he says in a rasp. "And when I was fuckin' her I said all the things I'd been wantin’ to say to you because I felt like you were mine that weekend."

He's blinking rapidly now and I can see the sheen to his eyes. 

"You were mine," he continues broken, "and I couldn’t- God, I couldn’t do anything when he took you away. I still can't do anything even though goddamn it, you still feel like mine.”

The words hit me like a punch, every muscle in my body tightens, every nerve alight and without thinking I've crawled over the mattress us and crushed my mouth to his. 

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into his lap as the kiss deepens. Tears are falling from my eyes as his tongue caresses mine, a groan escaping him. The sound sends a shiver up my spine. 

"I've missed you so much, darlin'," he says huskily. "I just don't work without you." 

"I've missed you more," I sniffle, snuggling into his arms. 

And just when I think that this beautiful moment might finally allow me to lay bare everything I feel I hear the key hit the lock to the front door. 

Joel’s arms loosen around me instantly, the warmth between us splintering into panic. We move without speaking, just a flash of eye contact and then we’re both on our feet. The bed creaks as we push off of it, and I nearly trip on the edge of the blanket, catching myself on the dresser.

Joel ducks low, crouching beside me in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, his broad shoulders hunched, breathing shallow. I can hear the faint hitch of it, can feel the pulse of adrenaline in the air.

Jack’s keys jingle as he sets them down on the counter. “Hey, babe. I brought dinner.”

My heart is slamming against my ribs. I force my voice into something light, casual, like my pulse isn’t a drumbeat in my ears. “In here,” I call; tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear like that could erase what we were just doing.

Joel’s gaze flicks to me and for a second I think he’s going to say something. Instead, he stays crouched, still as stone, listening. Jack’s footsteps approach down the hall, slow and unhurried, each one making my stomach knot tighter.

Joel shifts subtly, angling himself so the dresser blocks most of him from view, his shoulders drawing in, knees bent. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that if I moved an inch, I’d brush against him again.

Jack appears in the doorway, holding a takeout bag, smiling like nothing in the world is out of place. “Hey,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the frame. “I just needed the tools, not the whole thing built.” 

"Wanted to surprise you," Joel says with a weak smile. "Your girl here was a big help." 

His fingers brush my lower back and I have to force a small smile. “Your dad was very patient," My voice sounds almost normal, but my fingers are curled tight against the side of the dresser. 

His eyes sweep over me but don’t linger, thank God. Joel stays perfectly still, head bowed just enough that the shadow hides his face. I can feel his restraint thrumming like a live wire.

"Well I got Chinese and lots of it," jack says with a grin. "You wanna stay dad?"

"Naw, you two enjoy your date night."

"You sure?"

"Positive." 

He turns away, footsteps retreating. Only when we hear the faint rustle of the takeout bag being opened do I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Joel’s eyes lift to mine, and in that silent moment, it’s clear we’re both thinking the same thing, how close that was, and how badly we still want what we just had to stop.

"When can I see you again?" he murmurs quietly as he begins to pack up his tools. 

"I don't know," I whisper glancing over my shoulder and back. "Maybe after work Monday?"

Joel shakes his head slowly, eyes on me. "Can't wait that long." 

My heart hiccups, a bloom in my chest until I hear Jack calling my name.

"Dinners served!" 

The two of us walk back down the hall, Joel's knuckle stroking my spine until we enter into the kitchen. We drift into the kitchen like nothing’s wrong, like Joel wasn’t in my bedroom three minutes ago. Jack is already at the counter, unpacking cartons of Chinese food, the smell of sesame oil and ginger curling through the air.

Joel leans against the opposite counter, casual on the surface, one ankle hooked over the other. “Smells good,” he says, nodding toward the spread.

“Place on Main,” Jack replies, opening a carton of lo mein. “Figured you could use a break from cooking, babe.” He glances at me with that easy smile before reaching for plates.

Joel’s mouth twitches, just barely, as he folds his arms. “Yeah, she worked hard today,” he says evenly.

Jack chuckles, spooning rice onto one plate, then another. “And you? Keepin’ busy?”

“Always,” Joel answers. “Couple projects on the go. Weather’s been fightin’ me, but, part of the job.”

Jack nods, turning to hand me my plate. As he does, he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, his hand brushing my hip. I catch the flicker in Joel’s expression, the tight pull at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes drop for a second before he schools his face back into polite neutrality.

Jack doesn’t notice. He’s already moving back to the counter, scooping generous helpings of beef and broccoli. “You sure?"

“Nah, I’m good,” Joel says, but his voice is clipped, polite in a way that feels practiced. His gaze meets mine for the briefest second, sharp, unreadable, before flicking back to the cartons.

"Tess wanted me to check if you two're comin' for dinner this Sunday?" Joel remarks casually, like it's not a huge deal, like it's not just an excuse to see each other. 

"What do you think?" Jack asks, deferring to me. I bite back my grin, nodding.

"We'll be there." 

----------------------------------------------------------

That Sunday Jack and I pull up in front of Tess and Joel’s place just as the daylight fades into an amber glow.  I balance the cookie tin in one hand while Jack grabs the flowers we picked up on the way, his mood relaxed, his grin easy. He's excited we're going tonight. He keeps talking about how he's missed his mom's cooking. 

Tess opens the door before we even knock dressed beautiful, her smile wide.  “There they are!” she says, bright and warm, pulling me into a hug first, then Jack. “I swear, it’s been too quiet without you here. I keep turning on the TV just to feel better.”

I smile into her shoulder, a little breathless from her enthusiasm. “We’ve missed you too.”

Jack hugs her tightly, handing her the flowers. Over Tess’s shoulder, I spot Joel in the kitchen doorway. He doesn’t move right away, just watches us with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans.

“Hey,” he says finally, his voice low, and he nods at Jack before letting his gaze drag over to me. It lingers just long enough that my stomach flips.

Before I can think too much about it, Tess adds, “Oh! Tommy and Maria will be here soon, but Bill and Frank are already settling in."

"Bill and Frank are here?" Jack says delighted. "When did they get back?"

"Last week." 

I glance toward the living room, and sure enough, Bill and Frank, the couple who live two doors down, are laughing over something at the couch. I think k remember Tess mentioning something about them being travelers. Apparently they were in Vietnam for a few months. 

Relief warms me. More people means more buffer for whatever Joel and I are tiptoeing around. I hand off the cookies, which Tess coos over like I’ve just given her a precious gift. “C’mon in, it’s all just about ready,” she says, leading us toward the dining room.

As we pass Joel, I catch the faintest shift of his head toward me, not enough to be obvious to anyone else, but enough that my skin heats. I let Jack go ahead, using the moment to angle my body closer to Joel’s. My arm brushes his as I pass.

“Hey,” I murmur, too soft for anyone else to hear.

His eyes flick to my mouth, and then back up. “Nice dress.”

The dining table is already buzzing. Tess has pulled out the good plates, the cloth napkins, the pitcher of sweet tea sweating on a trivet. Bill and Frank are chatting quietly at the far end, and I spot Tommy and Maria’s car pulling up outside. It’s crowded, yes, but it feels lively, like the house is finally the place it’s meant to be.

“Southern cooking night,” Tess says proudly, motioning to the platters. “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, I even made collard greens, Jack, your favorite.”

“Thanks Mom” Jack says, grinning, already reaching for the tea.

We sit; Tess at one end, Jack beside her, me across from him, and Joel opposite Tess. That puts Joel and me diagonally across from each other; far enough apart to be safe but close enough that if I angle my knee just right…

Tommy and Maria and Frank and Bill round out the rest of the large table and I introduce myself to the latter, answering the same boring questions everyone asks someone new. Tess starts talking about the neighbors’ recent gardening projects, Bill chiming in with some joke about Frank’s herb garden, and Jack laughing at everything with that easy charm I love. 

The conversation hums around me, but my attention is snagged on Joel’s hands as he passes the biscuits down the table. Strong, deliberate, the way his thumb presses briefly into the rim of the plate before h

We eat and talk about nothing; Tommy and Maria arrive midway through, laughing about their parking misadventures, and suddenly the table is alive, full of voices and shifting plates. 

The air feels warm, almost heavy, the scent of fried food mixing with the faint cologne Joel must have put on. At one point, Jack leans forward to say something to Tess, and I take the chance to run the side of my foot slowly up Joel’s shin. His jaw tightens mid-sentence, but he doesn’t look at me.

When dessert comes, pecan pie Tess insists we have room for; Joel finally meets my eyes again. The look he gives me is dark, promising. After dinner, Tess shoos us away from helping with the dishes. “Go sit out back, enjoy the evening air. I’ll just rinse these and join you.”

Jack heads toward the sliding door, but I hang back under the pretense of refilling my tea. Joel is standing at the counter, drying his hands, the muscle in his forearm flexing. I step past him, my hip grazing his.

“Bathroom,” I murmur.

His mouth tilts, but he doesn’t look at me. “Meet you there.”

Jack calls my name from outside, and I force myself to move away, my pulse still thudding from the way his gaze had followed me even without turning his head. I carry the tea out, sit beside Jack, smile when Tess joins us, and Tommy and Maria take the chairs next to Bill and Frank. 

Joel remains inside, the radio on, the space lively, the ghost of his touch lingering like an unspoken call, even in the midst of this lively, crowded table.

"Just going to use the washroom," I say to Jack, excusing myself. 

Everyone is so deep in conversation, they don't even notice when I slip away. I make sure I keep my steps measured, my walk casual. 

But when the bathroom door comes into view I hurry towards it. Joel opens the door and grabs me around the waist, tugging me inside as he hears my approach. 

The door closes behind him and he's already on me,

The door closes behind him and he's already on me. I can still hear the faint clink of cutlery on dessert plates. Joel doesn’t waste a second, his hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth claims mine. It’s not gentle, it's needy, it's hungry. 

I grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, my back hitting the counter. His hips press into mine like he’s trying to fuse us together.

“Fuck, I've missed you,” he murmurs against my lips, his breath hot and uneven.

"You too," I whisper between kisses. My skin is scorching everywhere he touches it.

"You in that dress made me so fuckin hard',” he says, his voice a low growl against my ear. “Knew I was gonna ruin it before the night was over.”

My pulse hammers in my throat. “We don’t have long,” I whisper, breathless.

“Then stop talkin’,” he mutters, spinning me so my stomach meets the edge of the counter. My hands splay against the cool surface as he steps in behind me, his chest flush to my back.

Our eyes meet in the mirror, his dark, focused; mine already glassy. He drags his hands slowly up my sides, under my breasts, pausing to squeeze before sliding down to grip my hips.

“Look at you,” he says, low and deliberate, his mouth brushing my ear. “All worked up just from me bein’ close. You want me that bad?”

I nod, biting my lip, the sight of us in the mirror making my knees weaken. I came in here for a kiss, maybe a light grope. But when he bends me over the sink, my face inches from the glass; I don't fight him on it. 

“Say it,” he orders.

“I want you.”

His grin is sinful. “Let’s make sure you remember how much.” 

His palm flattens between my shoulder blades, bending me forward until my stomach meets the countertop. My hands splay on the cool surface, catching faint tremors in my own grip. He pushes my skirt up, bunching it over my hips, and drags my panties down in one slow, deliberate pull. The air brushes the heat between my thighs, sending a shiver through me.

"We both need this, baby." 

He tosses my panties onto the counter and they land next to the sink, clearly soaked with my arousal. Joel steps in close, crowding me into the counter, his cock thick and hard against my ass even through his pants. A sound slips from my throat before I can stop it, too loud. His hand slides up and covers my mouth, big and warm, sealing me in darkness and heat.

“Shh,” he warns softly, right against my ear. “You gotta keep quiet or they'll hear. You don't want Jack to find his daddy knuckles deep in his girlfriend.” My pussy clenches brutally around him, trying to milk him. I hear his low chuckle. "Yeah, that's what I thought." 

His fingers find me without hesitation, sliding through the wetness with a filthy, obscene sound. “Christ,” he mutters. “Soaked already. You know why?”

I bite my lip.

“Because I fuck you how you need,” he answers himself. “I know every little thing that makes you fall apart.” Two fingers push inside me, curling up in that way that makes my knees weaken. His thumb brushes my clit, slow and steady, his other hand braced on my hip to hold me still. “You’re already clenching,” he murmurs, chest pressed to my back now. “Like you’re trying to pull me in deeper.”

He keeps working me with maddening patience, each curl of his fingers hitting just right, each rub of his thumb a little firmer than the last. 

My gaze snags on the mirror, and for a second I almost don’t recognize myself. My mouth is slack, lips parted in uneven gasps, eyes glassy and unfocused from how hard Joel is driving into me. My cheeks are flushed deep, damp strands of hair clinging to my temples. I make a whining noise behind his palm and his eyes darken in the mirror at the sound.

“I know, honey,” he mutters, kissing the spot just below my ear before sucking lightly. "Feels good in her, doesn't it? He missed her."

I whimper a quiet yes, watching my body jostling under his movements. 

He smirks faintly, eyes dark and certain. “No one makes you cum like I do; no one makes you act like such a little slut.” His hand between my legs moves again, coaxing me back toward the edge. “They’d lose their fuckin’ minds if they knew what we were doin' in here.”

The words send a shiver down my spine, heat pooling low in my belly. He presses his mouth to my neck, the kiss soft but the hold on my hips firm, possessive.

Every thrust rocks my body forward, my breasts swaying, skin glowing under the light. My spine curves instinctively, hips rolling to meet him, and the mirror catches every ripple of motion, the arch of my back, and the drop of my jaw when he hits a really good spot. 

My eyes flutter closed, head tilting back against his shoulder as my thighs start to tremble.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “I could make you cum just like this, couldn't I? My fingers in your cunt, my hand over your pretty mouth.”

I’m close already, shamefully close, my hips starting to roll into his touch. He feels it and pulls away. I make a muffled, desperate sound into his palm. His chuckle is low, smug. The rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down. Then the heavy, hot weight of him nudging at my entrance.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, and pushes in slow, inch by inch, stretching me until he’s seated deep. My eyes roll back, a muffled moan spilling into his palm.

“Yeah,” he rasps, hips pressing flush to mine. “That’s it.”

He starts slow, deep thrusts that grind me into the counter, every push making a slick, wet sound that only he can hear over my breathing. His hand never leaves my clit, rubbing in tight, controlled circles that have my thighs quivering.

“You feel that?” His voice is ragged now. “That’s me filling you up, giving you exactly what you need, what you've been missin'."

I whimper loudly behind his hand. 

“Shh,” he murmurs into my hair, his lips brushing my ear. “Gotta be quiet, baby.”

I nod, my fingers curling against the counter, my knees threatening to give. He’s still for a moment, letting me feel every inch of him, then he starts to move again, short, urgent thrusts that make the mirror rattle faintly against the wall.

The reflection is almost more intense than the feeling; my flushed cheeks, his broad chest pressed to my back m. His eyes never leave mine in the glass.

“Look at you,” he whispers, voice low and thick. “Taking me so good, like you were made for it.”

I bite down on my lip to stop the sound that rises in my throat. His mouth finds my neck, open-mouthed kisses trailing down to my shoulder. It’s not just lust, it’s something softer buried in the urgency, his lips lingering even as his hips keep their frantic pace. 

When he finally takes his hand from my mouth, my breath comes in ragged gasps

His hand slides down from my mouth and to my neck, coaxing my jaw up, forcing me to look at my reflection. I look wrecked, mascara smudged around my eyes, eyes glassy. My tits jerk as Joel fucks into me from behind. 

And then Joel comes into view behind me, his expression raw and unhinged. His jaw is taut, teeth bared in a fierce, almost feral grimace as he buries himself into me, eyes dark with hunger and obsession. 

"Gonna cum in her tonight, baby," he whispers shakily. "You're gonna have to sit out there stuffed full." 

There’s a heat in his gaze that feels like it’s drilling into me even as his body moves with brutal rhythm, shoulders rippling with each thrust, biceps flexing, chest rising and falling rapidly. The veins in his arms and neck stand out, taut under skin that’s slick with sweat, showing how completely he’s lost himself in the motion.

I watch the rise and fall of his back in the mirror, every hard thrust sending him deeper, his hands gripping me, one bracing my hips, the other tangled in my hair. His movements are chaotic and precise all at once, a storm of need I can’t tear my eyes from.

"Look at this fuckin' body," he groans, unable to stop running his hands along my torso. "So tight n' soft. Sweet ass clappin', all for me." 

Joel however looks in control, one hand on my hip, the other still wrapped around my neck. He smiles feral at my reflection, his hips and thighs flexing as he pumps into me. I can't keep watching how needy I look, my eyes closing sharply, but Joel's voice washes over me, making me moan. 

"Nobody fucks you like I do, do they? Only want this cock, don't you sweetheart?” he breathes in, inhaling my perfume, my sweat. 

"Y-yeah," I groan.

The sound of forks on plates outside, laughter carrying in through the walls, it all blurs. There’s only this. Him. The mirror. The impossible urgency of wanting him now, consequences be damned.

His pace changes, slower but the thrusts are deep, deliberate, like he’s trying to brand me from the inside. The sharp smack of skin against skin turns into a low, steady rhythm, each movement dragging a moan from my throat I barely manage to swallow.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot and uneven. “That’s better. Feel every inch of me, baby.”

My eyes are half-lidded, hooded with heat, mouth opening and closing in ragged gasps I can hear echoing back from the glass. Every sharp intake of breath, every whimper, is mine and not mine all at once, a reflection of how undone I am.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, the words almost reverent but still laced with heat. “Doesn’t matter who’s out there; doesn’t matter where we are, this-” another hard thrust, his voice rough, “-is mine.”

My eyes lock with his in the mirror, my lips parted, and my body pliant under his grip. We hear movement in the house and even though we continue to thrust we go quiet with Joel's hand covering my mouth. 

“Quiet,” he warns again, a quick kiss to my temple. “You want everyone catchin' us? Seein' you bent over getting fucked by a married man?.”

I can’t think about the backyard, the laughter, the clink of forks. There’s only him, the way his breathing grows rougher, the way his hips snap against mine, the way his thumb strokes slow circles over my stomach in stark contrast to the pace of his thrusts.

“You’re my girl,” he says, almost a growl now. “Always gonna be.”

The mirror trembles slightly with each thrust, and my own reflection feels like someone else entirely, someone lost in the way Joel is claiming me. 

"Whose girl are you?"

"Yours," I whisper. "Yours, Joel." 

"Yeah," he pants, smiling against my cheek. "You're mine." 

His hand slides up from my hip to cover my stomach, holding me flush to him as he sinks in again, slow and devastating. I can feel the thrum of his heartbeat against my back. His mouth is at my ear, eyes never leaving mine in the mirror. 

"Keep quiet, baby, I can hear those little whimpers." 

"I can't," I whine against his palm, feeling needy and pathetic as he uses me. "Joel, I can't it feels too good." 

Joel smirks and I watch as he reaches for my panties on the counter. My eyes follow as he drags it to my mouth, the scent of my arousal clinging to the cotton.

"Open."

I acquiesce without thought, watching as he smirks before stuffing the panties in my mouth. 

"Good girl. Problem solved."

I want to thank him but the fabric is too tightly wedged into my mouth and Joel has slipped back into me to the hilt, thrusting brutally as my eyes roll back. The pressure pulls tight in my belly, my whines barely muffled by my trembling lips. But I bite down on the panties, the fabric swallowing the building moans as my eyelids flutter. 

"Don't you dare look away," he grunts as he pounds into me. "You watch who owns this pussy. You watch the man who makes you cum." 

His hand is at the front of my throat, urging my face up to see that the reflection shows my body arching up into him, responding to every deliberate touch, every low, rasping whisper he throws at me. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing just below my ear. “That little slut in the mirror knows exactly what she's doin'. Married man buried in her pussy, party goin' on outside." 

My hair is a messy halo around my face, strands plastered to my skin, and every tilt of my head, every flicker of my tongue across parted lips, is mirrored back with exacting detail, magnifying the intensity, the mess, the sheer heat of being claimed.

I watch the way my eyes glaze, the way his arm holds me tight against him, the way our bodies fit in the glass. The sounds are shameless: wet, rhythmic, punctuated by the breathless little cries I can’t swallow down no matter how hard I try. 

Joel slows only enough to murmur in my ear, “Good girl. Take me deep,” he orders, and I obey, watching his big frame bent over me, his hips working, the flex of his forearm as he keeps my jaw facing the mirror. 

I watch myself fall apart, and in the mirror, I can’t look away.

"There she is," Joel says softly before pressing a kiss to my temple. "You don't look away for a second. You watch who's makin' you cum, understand?" 

My knees are shaking now, my nails digging into the marble top, my middle pressing hard into the cool edge for balance. Every thrust is harder, sharper, the slap of his hips against my ass echoing in the dark room. 

“Almost there,” he growls. “Almost there, baby. You’re gonna cum all over me, yeah? Right here, bent over, everyone just outside?"

I feel my eyes cheating back but I nod, forcing my face forward again, unable to stop looking at him. I want this image imprinted in my mind forever, Joel draped over me, holding me in place as he thrusts. 

"You’re gonna remember exactly who fucks you right," he grunts against my cheek, "Gonna remember that this is the cock that makes you cum like a little whore." 

The pace shifts, bang, bang, bang, his cock driving deep while his fingers circle my clit faster, relentless. My eyes roll back again, my thighs clamping tight around him as the orgasm tears through me, hot and blinding.

The orgasm rips through me hard, silent but shaking, my fingernails digging into the counter as I ride it out. I moan into the cotton, the sound smothered as my body jerks and squeezes around him, wetness spilling over his cock as I cum.

"That's my girl," he gasps softly. "Cumming on the right cock tonight. Only gonna cum on this cock from now on." 

He fucks me harder, milking every last pulse until I’m sagging onto the sink, limp and shaking and nodding. He leans in, lips grazing my ear. 

“Now you know,” he says, voice low and satisfied. “You cum so damn easy, but only with the right man." 

I'm agreeing, head nodding jerkily. I only want to cum on his cock. I only ever want Joel's cock from now on. His hand is on my cheek, tilting my face up and over my shoulder. He smiles, lips connecting with mine. He kisses me deeply, licking into my mouth before turning me back to face the mirror. 

"My turn, baby." 

His movements picks up to its previous brutal pace, hips slapping into mine. The sound is echoing and I'm terrified that it'll carry into the next room, but I'm more concerned that he's starting to pump longer, slower and then rapid. He's close. 

I throw myself back, arm wrapped behind me around his neck. His eyes blow black, watching my tits jump under my dress from this angle, his cock feeding into me over and over, the arousal dripping down my inner thighs as he keeps going. It looks filthy and gorgeous all at once. 

"Not inside, Joel," I whisper into his neck, eyes moving to his in the reflection. "You can't cum inside."

"This is my pussy," he tells me like it's fact, his voice low and husky. He won't break eye contact with my reflection. "I cum in her, darlin'." 

"You can't," I insist, even as my hips rock harder against his, the pleasure building again. "You can't." 

"I'm gonna cum in her sweetheart," Joel growls against my temple. "And you're gonna watch me do it." 

My stomach tightens, muscles bunching and releasing as I brace against the edge of the sink, and in the glass I can see how wrecked I am, my fingers clutching at the countertop like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

My reflection captures everything: my face twisting in ecstasy, my body shivering and arching, and his wild, almost animalistic intensity, each glance and thrust amplified by the glass until it feels like the two of us exist only here, in this mirrored heat. 

“That's right, honey,” he murmurs, his tone both command and praise. "You want me to finish inside, don't you?"

I nod with a whimper, trying to be quiet even with the slap of our skin echoing in the tile. 

"That’s it,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Keep quiet. Don’t want ’em hearin’ how good I’m fuckin’ you.”

I choke back a gasp, my nails curling against the countertop.

"Fuck you're gorgeous like this," he says in an awed tone. He smiles at my grinning reflection. "Oh, you want praise is that it? It's not enough I made you cum you wanna know how good you are?" 

I bite down hard on my lip, my eyes flicking around the mirror. He’s looking right at me, his jaw tight, sweat dampening the curls at his temple. My chest is tight, my legs trembling, and he must feel it because his grip on me tightens, his thrusts getting rougher.

“You’re my beautiful girl,” he says, almost a growl now. “Always gonna be. And my girl needs my cum, doesn't she?"

The praise makes something in me unravel. My head tips back against his shoulder, my mouth falling open in a silent cry as I keep my gaze locked with his in the reflection. The sight makes my breath hitch. 

“Yeah…” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot and uneven. “That's right, baby. Just let it happen."  

My eyes lock with his in the mirror, my lips parted, my body pliant under his grip as I watch my body being used for his pleasure, his large hands on my hips, the way he holds me in place as he fucks into me. His jaw tight, his hand firm on my hip as he drives into me one last time, burying himself deep. 

“That’s it,” he rasps, his thrusts are urgent now. “Look at me. Watch how good you look when I finish in you."

His thrusts stutter and without warning his mouth is at my shoulder, biting down gently as he shudders. I feel the warmth of his spend flooding my pussy, his groan muffled into my skin. 

We stay like that for a moment, breathing hard, foreheads almost touching in the glass before he eases out, fixing my dress with quick, careful hands. 

He wipes me down, tugging the panties from my mouth and pulling them up my legs. He presses one last kiss to my lips, softer now.

“Go,” he says quietly, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Before they wonder.”

I nod then impulsively kiss him, feeling my heart soften when his hands come to cup my face before deepening the kiss. 

"Who do you belong to?" He murmurs, his eyes on me. 

"You." 

I answer in a sigh, no thought just the instinctual knowledge that I do belong to him just as much as he belongs to me. 

"All of you," he smiles. 

I slip out first, my legs unsteady, and the bathroom door clicking shut behind me

----------------------------------------------------------

The drive home from Joel and Tess’s place is quiet in that companionable way it often is after a big dinner. Jack hums tunelessly to the radio, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s smiling but his eyes keep flicking to the road ahead like his mind is somewhere else entirely.

I stare out the passenger window, the cul-de-sac lights blurring into golden streaks as we pass. My chest feels heavy. I can still see Joel in my mind, how he’d caught my gaze across the table, the almost imperceptible way he’d soften before looking away. 

I hadn’t wanted to name it before, but now the truth presses up against me, undeniable and terrifying: I’ve fallen in love with him. Not just attraction. Not just fascination. Love. And it’s not the kind you can tuck away in a back corner of your heart and ignore.

It hits me with a sudden, painful clarity—staying with Jack isn’t fair. Not to him. Not to me. Not when I know what I feel for another man. 

I feel my phone buzz in my purse. I pick it up and read it, Jack distractedly looking at the road. 

Be outside your apartment at 12 tomorrow.  

That's all it is, no details, nothing. The starkness of his message makes me wince a little. A reminder that even if Jack and I separate there's no guarantee that Joel will want to continue things. 

But that's okay. Because if Jack has really found something with Anne, if that’s why he’s been so distracted, so distant, then this is the kindest thing I can do. This is me showing love to Jack, the most selfless kind I'm capable of. 

“I was thinking,” I say softly, my voice breaking the comfortable hum of the radio. “Maybe we could go out for dinner tomorrow night? Just us. The Italian place?”

His head turns slightly, and for a second he looks almost relieved? “Yeah?” His smile brightens, quick and easy. “That sounds great. Been a while since we did that.”

I nod, pretending to share his enthusiasm, but in my mind, tomorrow night is already decided. That’s when I’ll tell him. That’s when I’ll finally let go.

Jack’s gaze lingers a moment too long, and I see his expression flicker, like he’s caught something in my eyes I hadn’t meant to reveal.

We don’t speak much after that.

At home, we go through the motions of brushing teeth, changing into pajamas. Jack kisses me goodnight, but it’s brief, distracted, and when we climb into bed, he turns away faster than usual. 

There’s a stiffness in his shoulders, a slight tension in the way he exhales. Within minutes, his breathing evens out. He’s asleep, one arm flung carelessly across the sheets, his phone resting on the nightstand beside him. .

I lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my chest aching with the weight of tomorrow.

A tear slips free before I can stop it, rolling over my temple and disappearing into the pillow. I don’t sniffle, don’t shift. Jack’s breathing stays even, his back warm against the edge of my arm. I remember when that warmth felt like home.

I’m on the edge of sleep, my mind loosening its grip, when a sudden beep jolts me back. It’s sharp in the quiet, the screen glow flashing against the wall. Jack’s phone.

I blink, disoriented for a second, before turning my head toward the nightstand. The screen is still lit. The notification banner is there, bold against the dark.

It’s late, past two am. My pulse stutters, then starts to race. I don’t move right away, my brain caught in the space between disbelief and dread. The light from the phone glows against Jack’s shoulder, and I swear his breathing doesn’t change. He’s still asleep.

Slowly, I reach over, careful not to make the mattress dip too much, my fingers curling around the cool rectangle of glass. The screen tilts toward me, and I bring it down to my side of the bed, holding it low so the light doesn’t spill across his face.

Logan.

My stomach tightens. Logan hates me. Always has. But he’s Jack’s friend, supposedly professional. Still, curiosity gnaws at me. I reach for the phone, but it’s locked. Jack is still asleep. I take his thumb and press it to the sensor. The screen unlocks instantly. The message is simple: a video attachment and the words: For the collection xx

I frown. Collection? The “xx” is personal. I slip in my earbuds, hit play, and my heart starts to hammer. The video opens to a dimly lit room. Jack is sitting on the edge of a bed, his face pink, lips parted in that shy, awkward smile he wears when he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Logan’s voice is first, teasing, casual. “Look at this kiss-ass,” he murmurs, camera wobbling slightly as it pans. "Worked all week but volunteered for an extra shift. You wanna tell the camera why?"

“Shuddap,” Jack says softly, ducking his head.

“C’mon,” Logan teases. His tone is still playful, but there’s a slow shift. It deepens, softens, and the teasing becomes something more intimate. "C'mon Jack. Tell the camera why you're really here on a Saturday."

Jack fidgets with his hands, pressing them lightly against his thighs, moving with shy, nervous anticipation

"Because you're here on Saturdays." 

Logan chuckles softly, adjusting his position in frame, murmuring encouragements in low, intimate tones. "And why did you want to see me, today?" 

Jack's face is a bright red. I have never seen him this flustered before. The sight clearly amuses Logan. "That's okay. You don't have to say. You wanna get on your knees for me, pretty boy?”

The question shocks me.  I wait for Jack to laugh, push back, protest. But he doesn’t. His eyes light up, eager, bright, full of trust.  He stands up from the chair and slowly lowers himself to the floor. Logan goes closer, the camera shifting to close up on Jack. 

“Good,” Logan murmurs, voice low, warm. “Take off your clothes. Let me see that perfect body.”

Jack obeys instantly, pulling the T-shirt over his head. His chest is tan, dotted with a few freckles, soft lines of muscle flexing as he bends forward. His pants, his boxers, all are tossed onto the floor until he's there knelt before Logan completely bare now. 

His gaze stays fixed on the camera, on Logan, completely unfazed by his own nudity. 

Logan's hand moves into frame, fingers gently grazing Jack's cheek. His shoulders are tense with anticipation, chest rising rapidly when Logan's thumb moves to drag along his full lips, slipping it into Jack's mouth. 

Jack begins to suck on it gently, eyes going glazed. Logan groans his name before dragging the digit out, wetting Jack's lower lip with his own saliva. 

“Gonna use these pretty blowjob lips on me?” Logan’s voice is gentle, teasing at the same time.

“Yes,” Jack replies immediately.

"Good boy” Logan murmurs, low and intimate, dragging his thumb over Jack’s lower lip. “I wanna hear you beg for it. Can you do that for me?”

Jack swallows, eyes widening, shivering slightly. “Yes”

“Look in the camera” Logan says next, and Jack doesn’t hesitate. His voice is soft but needy:

“Please… please let me suck your cock, Logan.”

Logan’s fingers card through his hair gently, thumbs brushing over the soft nape of his neck. “Good boy.”

Jack leans into the touch, eyes unfocused, lips slightly parted. I watch as Logan points the camera slightly down. He's already nude, cock jutting and pressing against Jack's lower lip. 

"Show me how much you want it," Logan encourages. Jack doesn't even hesitate, licking the head without breaking eye contact. 

The sound he makes when he opens his mouth around Logan is wet, muffled, desperate. The entire scene is a mix of urgency and devotion. Jack’s lips suck and slide, throat humming, moaning quietly with every gentle praise. Logan’s voice keeps low, rich, guiding him with words that are part command, part affection.

"Fuck how are you so good at that?" Logan groans, cock twitching against Jack's tongue. 

The camera grain, the slight wobble, the muffled room noises make everything feel immediate, visceral. Every motion Jack makes conveys consent, enjoyment, and deep desire. 

Logan’s murmurs guide him, coax him, praise him, ensuring he knows how good he is, how much he is cherished.

"You're so beautiful on your knees for me. Fuck, Jack, you're fucking perfect." 

A low moan escapes him with each careful, greedy motion. His hands rest lightly on Logan’s hips at first, and then start to wander, stroking himself in time with the rhythm. He sucks Logan sweetly, eyes up at him as he strokes himself. 

“You’re so pretty,” Logan murmurs, running a hand along Jack’s cheek. “God, your skin, so soft….”

The way he moves, slow, deliberate, almost reverent, makes it obvious he trusts Logan completely. I watch Logan's fingers curl in Jack's hair, guiding him to take him deeper, groaning when Jack almost chokes on him. 

"Fucking perfect," Logan gasps, thrusting deeper and retreating. "Can you take more?"

Jack moans around his cock, nodding before looking up at him with desperate, needy eyes. 

"Fuck. Fuck just- just like that," Logan says, his hips smacking against Jack's mouth as he fucks it. 

The noises are intimate and messy, wet slurps, the faint scrape of teeth on skin, Jack’s own breath hitching in little, and uneven pants. His knees are on the carpet, toes flexed, and posture submissive yet eager. Every time he pulls back, saliva stretches from his lips to the head of Logan’s cock, glistening in the soft light.

“That’s it,” Logan murmurs. “Such a good fucking boy.”

Jack moans around him, trembling slightly. His eyes are glazed, glassy, pupils blown wide. 

They’re breathing hard now, chests rising and falling in sync. Logan’s hand keeps Jack’s hair guided, thumb brushing the soft skin along his cheek. Jack’s own hand presses against his own thigh, clutching at himself, jerking off in rhythm.

'So pretty,” Logan murmurs, voice low, intimate. “And your all mine, aren't you?"

Jack trembles, lips parting, eyes glossy, completely absorbed in Logan’s guidance and praise. “Yes… I’m yours…”

I bite my lip, chest tight. Every moan, shiver, and whispered word draws me in. Jack is submissive, attentive, eager, responding to Logan’s dirty talk and praise with every fiber of his body.

Their intimacy is palpable, kisses, nudges, gentle guidance, playful teasing, murmurs, shivers, soft laughter. Logan’s husky voice drags Jack closer, praising, coaxing, drawing moans and gasps from him. Jack’s cheeks are flushed, lips trembling, eyes half-lidded, shivering, completely lost in Logan’s attention.

I've never seen Jack like this. My broad, fitness-obsessed boyfriend. I could never have imagined him looking so at home on his knees, sucking another man's cock. The grain of the video captures every nuance, the blush along his cheeks, the small trembles of his hands, the way his shoulders tighten and release.

Jack's hands are back on Logan's hips, bracing himself as Logan buries his cock in his throat.  "Fuck, mmm - Jack... Gonna-"

I see the moment that Logan cums, he's holding Jack's head in place, rutting his hips as Jack's untouched cock bobs, before erupting onto the ground below. The two men groan in unison, their orgasms touching, meeting in the air as Logan floods Jack's mouth. 

"Jack," Logan gasps "Jack you're so fucking good." 

They’re clearly enjoying this, clearly wanting each other, and the tenderness in Logan’s touches makes my stomach knot, shock and confusion twisting together. 

I fumble to turn the phone off when Jack shifts in his sleep next to me. He sighs softly, curling closer, and I slip the earbuds out, heart still hammering. I stare at the ceiling, utterly stunned.

I thought I knew Jack. I thought I knew the man sleeping next to me looking so peaceful I hate him for it. I've been in anguish, disgusted with myself for what I've been doing behind his back. And this entire time he was fucking his co-worker? 

I can’t stop thinking about that first text from Logan: For the collection xx

What collection? 

My curiosity gnaws at me, even though a small, rational part of me knows I should stop. That anymore is just going to break my heart. My fingers hover over Jack’s phone again, heart hammering. The screen lights up in the dim light of our bedroom, and I notice an icon with a small padlock icon sitting smugly next to the name: “Private.”

I remind myself: I shouldn’t be doing this. But the temptation is too much. I don’t know how to break into it, passwords, biometrics, anything. But then I swipe the shape of an L, not surprised when it opens. 

I swipe through everything else, anything accessible, and my chest starts to tighten. The collection Logan was referencing is stuffed full of images and videos and voice memos. 

Its innocuous images first; Jack and Logan laughing over coffee, in the physio clinic, goofing off at work. Logan’s arm draped casually over Jack’s shoulder in one, a wide, crooked smile stretching across his face; Jack’s eyes are bright, head tilted toward Logan, completely comfortable. 

They’re not just coworkers. Not just friends. There’s a soft, unspoken ease in every shot, a closeness I’ve never seen between Jack and me. My chest tightens even more. These moments are small, almost imperceptible gestures: a brush of fingers against an arm, a hand lingering slightly too long, a shared glance across the room. But in the context of the photos, every detail becomes loaded with meaning.

Then the tone shifts, subtly at first. A selfie shows Logan with his cheek pressed against Jack’s, their noses brushing, lips hovering. Jack’s eyes are half-lidded, soft, almost dreamy. Another photo captures Logan’s hand resting lightly around Jack’s leg as they sit together in a quiet corner of the café. Kissing photos, explicit with tongues touching, hands gripping. 

And then I see them in bed. Not just in bed, but snuggled together, soft smiles on their faces, the kind of contentment that comes from being utterly comfortable with another person. Jack’s head resting lightly on Logan’s shoulder, completely lost in each other.

I scroll slower, almost afraid of what I’ll see next. The photos reach back as far as Jack’s second week at his physio job. Week by week, they trace a story: quiet morning coffees, shared breakfasts, playful office banter. I see Jack’s face light up in every frame, growing brighter, his laughter genuine, unguarded. Logan is always there, leaning in, grinning, teasing him, their connection deepening with each image.

The more I see, the more my chest tightens. He’s in love. 

And it’s not with me.

I stare at a photo of Jack’s head resting on Logan’s chest in a bed I can only assume it's Logan's. He's taken it selfie style, smiling up at the camera as if to say "how darling". Jack's eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, a soft sigh frozen in the still image. 

I feel tears prick at my eyes, the ache in my chest deepening. This is his happiness, and I’m not part of it.

I try to put the phone down, to step back and breathe, but I’m too fascinated, too riveted. The photos, the timeline, the intimacy, it’s addictive, voyeuristic. I keep scrolling, lingering over each detail: Jack’s half-lidded eyes, Logan’s soft smile, the subtle ways their bodies touch, the small, precious moments of closeness.

And with every photo, every gesture, every shared glance, it becomes undeniable: Jack’s heart is somewhere else. The ache is sharp, immediate, and yet I can’t stop. My chest tightens, my hands tremble, and I’m caught between heartbreak and fascination, unable to look away.

I stop at the earliest dated video. From about six weeks back. It starts with Jack at the physio office, smiling at the camera, talking through a leg stretch like a patient demo. 

Jack shifts his weight slightly, holding the phone at an angle so the camera captures him and the physiotherapy table. “Okay, so this one’s great for your hamstring flexibility,” he begins, voice light, professional, almost performative. 

He lifts one leg, bending it at the knee, and gently presses his foot against the wall while keeping the other leg planted firmly on the ground. 

"You want your knee straight, toes flexed toward you. Keep your hips square, back flat, and hold for about thirty seconds. Really feel the stretch along the back of your leg, not in your lower back."

He demonstrates the motion carefully, shifting his hips slightly forward, keeping his shoulders even, the line of his leg stretching smooth and precise under the fluorescent lights of the office.

He’s animated, the way he always is when he’s excited. "I usually like to breathe slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth," Jack says with a charming smile. "It helps your muscl-” 

The door to the room opens with a burst. Jack freezes mid-step and Logan storms in, hair tousled, chest rising fast, eyes locked on Jack like he’s daring him to run. There’s something raw in his energy tonight, a storm barely contained. Even from the video I can see his eyes are red-rimmed. 

“Logan, what's going-” Jack begins, but Logan doesn’t wait.

His hands are on Jack’s face, pulling him and suddenly their lips crash together. I hold in a gasp, shocked.  Jack stiffens at first, arms up in defense, eyes wide, but Logan doesn’t relent. He presses closer, teeth grazing, hands roaming over Jack’s shoulders, chest pressing insistently.

Jack’s resistance flickers, a battle between instinct and desire. His hands hover over Logan, unsure; wanting to push away, yet inching closer with each heartbeat. Finally, they pull back, gasping, foreheads touching. Jack’s hand is still on Logan’s chest, trembling slightly.

“Logan. What the fuck was-” Jack starts voice uncertain.

“I like you,” Logan interrupts, hurried, tense. “And I think you like me.”

A long, creeping silence extends between the men. Their eyes locked, their breathing heavy. 

What the fuck? My eyes widen, taking in the scene. 

Jack finally blinks, staring. “What do you mean, you like me?”

"I mean... I like you. I want you. I want to be with you." 

"That's just friendship, Logan," Jack says laughing weakly. 

“Don’t deny it,” Logan says softly, voice almost breaking. "Please."

"Logan-" jack shakes his head quickly, trying to push the thought away. “I'm not gay." 

Logan’s hands tighten slightly on Jack’s arms, leaning closer, eyes pleading. “I didn’t think I was either. I don't even know if I am. I've never felt like this about a guy."

Jack looks like he's going to faint, his face blanched. 

"That night I came to you about Marissa. The night we went to the pub, there was a moment wasn't there?" Logan looks undone, his voice reedy. "You felt it too. That spark. When you were driving me home and you looked at me and I just knew you felt the same way.”

Jack doesn't answer. 

"I can’t stop thinking about you, Jack. I only go through some days at work because I know I’ll see you. That’s it. That’s all I think about.”

Jack swallows, blinking rapidly, the words digging into him. "I have a girlfriend, Logan.”

"So did I" Logan steps back just a fraction, gaze intense. "But the minute I met you it's... It's like the world just got brighter." 

Despite everything, I feel my eyes water.. The love is so clear in Logan's eyes and his words. 

"And I knew that there was no one else for me. That you were it." 

"It's just friendship-'

"I wanna make you cum," Logan says huskily. "I want you to fuck me. That's not friendship, Jack."

 I can see in the pixelated image, that Jack's hand hovers loosely in front of his pelvis, trying to hide his building erection. Logan doesn't notice, he starts to pace in front of Jack, his reflection in the mirror behind my boyfriend.

"I know it's a lot and I know it feels like it coming out of nowhere but I've been feeling like this for months, Jack." 

Jack swallows hard, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He shakes his head, trying to deny it, to turn away from the truth burning in his chest. “I'm straight, I have a girlfriend, we're planning a future together." 

Even as he says it i can see the clear strain in his voice. 

Logan's eyes burn, eyes narrowed on the bulge in Jack's pants. He storms over, one arm crooked over Jack's shoulder against the glass, mouth inches from his ear. 

I watch as his hand slides down Jack's torso to cup his hard cock through his pants. "Does she make you this hard, Jack?"

"Logan-" His voice is sharp but quiet, almost a whisper that slices through the room. His eyes are on Logan's hand which is sliding along his cock. A cock which is swelling further under Logan's deft touch. 

Jack hisses, biting his lower lip as it happens, eyelids fluttering at the unexpected pleasure. 

"Tell me this isn't what you want" Logan whispers. His fingers fumble at Jack's waistband before sliding under. I hear the sound of flesh on flesh as he begins to stroke and then the deep groan that escapes Jack. 

A sound I've never been able to pull out of him, not even at our best. 

"You don't get hard like this for a friend," Logan insists huskily, his movements quicker. Jack is panting, gripping his shoulder as Logan jerks him off. 

"Not even twenty seconds," Logan smirks, his movements more rapid. "And you're so close." 

Jack's cheeks are pink, eyes glassy as he groans lowly again, eyes never straying from Logan's. 

"You tell me it's so hard to cum with her," Logan continues, the movements under Jack's pants increasing in tempo. "But with me? It's just my hand and you're almost over the edge." 

Jack shakes his head jerkily, but his hips are thrusting forward, fucking into Logan's hand. 

"I think I could make you cum right here against the wall with just my hand, Miller," Logan says not unkindly. 

"Fuck- fuck, no don't stop-" Jack gasps just as Logan slides his hands out of his pants. Jack is shaking, his teeth bared as he realizes what he's said. 

"You wanted me to keep going." Logan’s words hang in the air, insistent, patient, coaxing him toward a truth Jack clearly isn’t ready to claim.

"Just because it felt good," Jack scowls. "Anyone stroking my cock feels good, Logan. Doesn't mean I'm gay." 

Logan sighs, frustrated. "Jack, c'mon..."

Jack's big hands fidget, fingers curling and uncurling, restless. "I have a girlfriend. I love her. "

"I know and I loved Marissa just as much. But I ended it because of this, because of you. " Logan's voice catches on the last word. "I want all of you, Jack; even the parts you think are broken and ugly. The parts you can't show your girlfriend or your parents."

Jack's lower lip trembles, his big strong frame suddenly weakened by the words of Logan. His fingers twitch, hovering near Logan’s chest before dropping. Jack shakes his head, lips parting as he mutters my name, clearly torn. “I don't want to hurt her. I love her.” 

"I loved Marissa too," Logan nods. "But it doesn't come close to how I feel about you." 

Jack's eyes are overflowing. Mine are too. 

“Tell me you don’t want me.” Logan’s voice drops, softer now, desperate, coaxing. "Tell me you don't want me and I'll never bring it up again. I'll transfer to another clinic. You never see me again."

Jack is shaking his head before looking away for a fraction, then back, eyes wide, wet.  

I lean closer to the screen, heart thudding in my chest, every muscle taut as I watch. 

My stomach tightens, and I press my hand to it without even thinking, because watching him struggle like this, heart and body betraying him, is breaking my heart. 

His chest rises and falls too fast, fingers flexing at his side. 

And Logan is calm, patient, waiting. Letting Jack make his choice. But the quiet intensity in his eyes is magnetic, and I can see Jack being pulled into it against his will.  His lips part, a little gasp escaping before he even realizes it, and I can almost hear the choked words he’s holding back. I lean closer, breath catching, because my chest is tight just watching him unravel.

"I... Logan, I..."

I swear I see it in the screen, the moment he can’t hold it any longer: the faint, involuntary lean forward, the smallest quiver of surrender, the silent confession that is already written all over his body.

“I do want you.” His voice is small, almost broken, his face crumples. Jack’s head dips, his hands trembling slightly as he flexes and curls, struggling to contain the pull he knows he shouldn’t feel. 

Logan’s hands cup Jack’s cheeks, leaning closer, their foreheads touching.  Jack swallows hard. "I'm tired of pretending I don't want you like this."  

“You felt it that night,” Logan murmurs, almost shaking. “Didn't you?." 

Jack closes his eyes, nodding slowly. He opens them again, looking at Logan, vulnerability shining through. “I just thought it was in my head.”

Logan leans in, brushing lips against the curve of Jack’s mouth. "This is real.”

Jack hesitates, trembling. His hands graze Logan’s shoulders, then slide down his chest, tentative. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You're the one I want to tell everything to. The one that I get excited to see every day.”

“I want you,” Logan whispers, voice raw, thumb stroking the line of Jack’s jaw. "I want you, Jack."

Jack’s lips part, breath hitching, eyes flicking away and back, wrestling with himself. Finally, with a shaky laugh, he presses his mouth against Logan’s, hesitant at first, then with growing intensity. 

Their tongues meet, tentative, exploring, and then deepening as their hips grind together. I watch Jack pull back, his eyes wide. "Holy shit."

Logan pulls back, worried, his eyes searching Jack's face. "What?" 

Jack lets out a shuddering laugh, his hands on Logan's waist. "I’ve j-just never felt like that kissing anyone.”

Logan laughs, a warm chuckle that makes both men smile. He kisses Jack slowly, fingers loosely around his neck, their eyes closed, their tongues gently tangling. 

"Fuck," Jack sighs, mouth on Logan's. "Fuck this feels...." 

"Right?"

"Yeah." Jack shakes his head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I can’t believe this is happening." Suddenly he sobers, face dropping. "Logan, My girlfriend. My parents. How do I tell them?" 

I see Jack starting to get agitated, his body tensing. Logan's hands are still on Jack's cheeks, holding his face and gazing at him with adoration. "Shh, calm down." 

"Logan they're never going to talk to me again," Jack says with a frantic expression, tears in his eyes. "Fuck, my girlfriend is never going to forgive me. She moved here for me!" 

Logan looks like he wants to say something, his mouth tensing. I feel my stomach drop. He's going to tell Jack. He's going to tell him everything, about seeing me and Joel. But then he exhales slowly, bringing Jack into a tight embrace. Jack clings to him, hands trembling. 

“You don’t have to do anything right this second,” Logan murmurs, voice low and steady as he holds Jack. “We take it slow. Well figure it out together. I'll be there every step of the way." 

Jack melts, I watch him, the gooey way he just lets Logan hold him, kiss him. Jack catches sight of the camera, pointing with a laugh. 

“I forgot this was on." 

"No way." Logan laughs, coming to grab it. "One for the memories I guess. Our first kiss." 

The screen freezes, the video over. My eyes are saucers as I realize how my life will never be the same. The sweet man I loved, my first love, was never really mine. Not in the way I thought.

Jack is turned away from me, his back a solid, unmoving line in the dim glow that seeps through the blinds. I swallow hard, forcing my breathing to stay slow so Jack won’t stir. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve been holding a secret in my chest for months, my feelings for Joel, the way I look at him when no one’s watching, the way my skin remembers the heat of his hand.

And yet here I am, my boyfriend desperately in love with someone else. The phone feels heavier in my palm the longer I hold it. Another tear slips free, sliding hot and slow over my cheek. I press the phone face-down against my thigh, the light cutting off, plunging the room back into shadows.

Jack stirs faintly, rolling his shoulder before settling again. I study the slope of his back, the way it rises and falls. I used to love him so cleanly. Now it feels like love tangled with pity, with obligation, with a grief I don’t know how to name. And there's so much relief in it. To know that his heart won't be broken, not really. Not in a way that can't be salvaged. 

I set the phone back on the nightstand, my movements careful, deliberate. The glow fades from the room, leaving only the streetlamps pale stripe on the wall. I stare at him again, tears in my eyes. He was my first love, my first home, the man I saw forever with. And even if that forever doesn't exist anymore, I still carry love for him. I always will. 

I lie there in the dark, eyes open, heart pounding. The decision is no longer something I’m circling around. It’s already been made.

I’m leaving.

___________________________________________________

you wanted this

@yslgreen @jmg2631 @arsonistsworld @222divine @pleurspetal @speaktothehandpeasants | @glitterspark | @xtrxsha | @acrazyfangirlforeva | @ultra-nina-bella | @hhjhgdaiqoqoan | @wildthyng | @untamedheart81 | @eloquentdreamer | @danaispunk | @getitoutofmymindwrites | @pedrofan | @joelssimp | @maryrhodalouandted | @mallingcalling-blog | @justobsessedwithyou | @ivoryandflame | @hhjhgdaiqoqoan | @endurexxsurvive | @percyjacks-blue | @killinmyslf |@itsjuststardust | @shivispunk | @menshipsandthesea | @alixiscoping | @spacelatinos4life | @sarahhxx03 | @gabymalikk | @joelsgrubbyflannel @akah565 | @sohaaa6

[coppersaladstories-deactivated2]

ruin me part 10

rating: X (not for minors) \ 12.7k words/bf dad joel miller x female reader

tags: if you don't like smut and morally ambiguous characters this is not the fic for you. there is adultery, thigh fucking, creampies, downright filthy talk, blow jobs, cunnilingus, fingering, keeping quiet, public sex, possessive joel miller and that isn't even all of it.

tldr: you accidentally fuck your bf's dad and then you keep fucking him.

masterlist

The upcoming chapters and this one are getting very long and icreasingly porny. And it's only going to get more intense as we go along so please keep leaving those delicious comments of yours and be sure to check back. The ones with photos make me laugh.

I am not able to tag anymore people because tumblr is weird. Just know this story will be updated AT LEAST once a week until complete, probably on Sunday's.

Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. - Joan Didion

I wake to an empty bed, the sheets still warm where he’d been, and a pang of disappointment hits me before I can fully process it. He's gone. 

The quiet hum of the hotel air conditioner feels louder than it should, a reminder that he’s gone, and I’m alone with the memory of his arms around me. I shouldn't be upset or surprised. Last night was as we said, carnal, it meant nothing. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, forcing myself not to linger. A shower should reset me. 

The hot water scalds my skin, but it’s not enough to wash him away. I tell myself it doesn’t matter, I blink back my tears. 

Dressed in professional black slacks and the Miller Brothers construction T-shirt I pull my hair back, smooth my nerves as best I can, and head down to the exhibition hall that the hotel is hosting. 

The booths are a whirlwind of color and movement, banners snapping, people hurrying past with coffee and clipboards. But in the midst of it, I spot Tommy and Joel already at our booth, moving with that frenetic energy that only comes when something is on a tight deadline.

Joel’s back is to me, t-shirt tight across his broad back, the tension in his shoulders stark even from this distance. Tommy is darting from stack to stack, checking names and schedules, but Joel is focused, precise, and impossibly magnetic, even in the middle of chaos. 

My pulse picks up without permission, my chest tightening as if remembering every inch of him from last night.

I pause just inside the aisle, telling myself again that I don’t need this distraction. I walk toward the booth, heels clicking softly against the floor, and Joel glances up. His eyes catch mine for the briefest second, but then he’s back to work, setting up materials, checking devices, all business.

Tommy waves me over, oblivious to the storm brewing just a few feet away. “Hey! Perfect timing, vendor drop in ten, and the screen isn't hooked up yet.”

I nod, moving to assist, but I can’t quite shake the sense that Joel is ignoring me. I spend the next few minutes moving through the motions at the booth, arranging brochures and checking the tablet screen, all the while stealing glances at Joel. 

He’s there, a few feet away, deliberately precise, hands moving quickly over devices and paperwork. But he’s not looking at me, it's like he's forcing himself not to. 

I try subtlety at first to catch his attention. I drop a pen near him, let my hand linger a little too long on the table as I pick up brochures, flash a smile while asking him a question about the setup. 

He glances at me barely, but his focus snaps right back to the screen. No acknowledgement, no flicker of that heat from last night.

"Should be just fine over there. Just stick em next to the business cards." 

I grit my teeth. Fine, I can play this game. I move closer under the guise of helping with the displays, leaning just enough for my hair to brush his shoulder. 

“Joel, do you want me to double-check these panels?” I ask, voice casual, light, but there’s an edge there he’s choosing to ignore.

He doesn’t even look at me. “All set,” he says flatly, almost dismissively. His fingers tap over the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen. 

I step back, pretending to fuss with brochures, but inside I’m boiling. Furious. *After everything last night,* the way he held me, kissed me…how can he act like none of it happened? Like I’m just some background detail while he plays Mr. Professional?

I want to storm off. I want to grab him by the arm and demand an explanation. Instead, I take a deep breath, clenched fists pressing against my thighs, and force myself to stay, to act normal. But the simmering heat behind my eyes refuses to be tamed.

Just like the symposium I'm wedged between the two of them as people begin to file in, stopping at different booths, the chatter rising. 

Tommy passes me a coffee and muffin he brought for me and I'm thankful. I was so distracted I forgot breakfast. 

Joel doesn't look my way, almost like it's a challenge. And I realize with sharp clarity that: I won’t let him ignore me. Not like this. Not after last night.

The opportunity comes in the sudden form of Rick wandering to his booth, a stack of embossed notebooks under his arm. 

He's got that same sleazy grin from yesterday plastered across his face when he passes a pretty woman. I sneer; equal parts annoyance and something darker, something that makes me want to play with fire. 

Joel and Tommy are busy talking to some guys in flannel, gesticulating to something on the tablet. Perfect opportunity. I leave the booth and glide over to Rick, smiling politely.

“Hey,” I say, tilting my head slightly.

His smile wobbles when he recognizes me, does darting to ensure I'm alone. I smile sweetly. 

 “I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I appreciate you trying to include me.”

Rick’s eyes light up immediately, a glint of predatory delight in them. He leans in just enough, voice low, smooth. “Well, I was just trying to be friendly,” he says. “Thought your boyfriend might’ve been upset?”

I can feel Joel’s gaze slicing across the floor, but I glance from the corner of my eye to be certain. Yep, there he is, Tommy chatting to those same journeymen while Joel has gone still. The heat of his stare crawls down my spine makes my chest tight and my pulse spike. 

I lean a little closer to Rick, lower my voice just enough to let the banter linger, my smile a little brighter, my laughter just a touch breathier. “Oh, he's not my boyfriend,” I reply, letting the words drip with just enough teasing. “He’s at home. Far, far away.”

Rick chuckles, leaning a little closer, emboldened. “Far away, huh? That’s a shame. Guess that leaves me to keep you company today.”

I play along, batting my eyelashes, matching his bravado with mine. “If you don't mind," I tease. 

I glance over my shoulder, letting my eyes flick briefly toward Joel, and my chest hammers. There he is, a few feet away, jaw tight, fists flexing at his sides, knuckles white.His dark eyes are fixed on me like a predator calculating the perfect moment to strike. My pulse spikes at the sight, an unexpected thrill igniting in my stomach.

I tilt my head, letting the corner of my mouth lift in a mischievous smirk, watching the way Joel's muscles tense, how his hands curl into fists at his sides, how he swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat.

Joel’s eyes flick to Rick and back to me, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring slightly. He’s so rigid, so taut with something that I feel it almost physically, like static electricity jumping across the floor. 

Rick, oblivious, leans closer. “I feel like you're trouble,” he says, smirking.

"And I think you like that,” I reply, voice soft, teasing, and deliberate. "Don't you?"

"Yeah," Rick purrs, licking his lower lip. "Yeah, I do."

A large hand clamps onto my upper arm, firm and unyielding, spinning me gently but decisively away from Rick. 

“Sorry to break up the party,” Joel mutters, low and dangerous, giving Rick a look that’s equal parts warning and menace.

Rick freezes, taken aback, and I can’t help the thrill that coils inside me. Joel keeps his hand on my arm, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him, his thumb brushing against my skin in that subtle, infuriating way that makes me shiver. 

“Uh, hey,” Rick stammers, clearly deciding discretion is necessary.

I glance up at Joel, pretending to be innocently surprised. “What’s up, Joel?” I ask, letting my voice carry just enough curiosity and teasing to make him visibly tighten. "

Joel’s jaw clenches harder, his teeth pressing against his lower lip. His gaze locks on mine, dark and molten. “We need you back at the booth," he says evenly, but the low growl under his words betrays the tension threatening to snap. “Let's go.”

I smirk, letting my eyes trace the lines of his face, memorizing the way his fists flex at his sides, the taut of his neck, and the heat in his gaze. 

He swallows, the movement subtle, but I catch it. And I know he’s aware. Every laugh, every lean, every playful flick of my hair is working him over. His chest rises and falls faster, fists still clenched, jaw tight, and I feel my pulse race, not just from desire, but from the sheer thrill of knowing I’m the one making him lose control, even if only a little.

Joel pulls me closer, his grip tight enough to be possessive without hurting, his jaw set, and his gaze locked on mine. “We’ll talk later,” he murmurs, voice low, but there’s no mistaking the warning underneath it.

I glance up at him, surprised but secretly thrilled, the adrenaline of both being caught and being wanted making my pulse race.“No. I want to talk now.”

The air between us shifts instantly and he abruptly urges me outside the conference hall. His hand finds my elbow, firm enough that I have no choice but to move with him.A few distracted people bump into us as he drags me toward the far corner of the lobby, away from the booths and chatter, toward a quiet alcove near the glass exit doors.

“Joel-"

“Not here,” he bites out, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead like if he looks at me too long, he’ll say something he can’t take back.

We round the corner, the muted sounds of the conference fading. He finally stops, his hand falling away from my arm, but the heat of his grip lingers.

“You got somethin’ to say to me?” he asks, low and dangerous.

My arms fold across my chest. “Yeah. What is going on with you?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“You’ve been ignoring me since I saw you. Like you're disgusted by me or something."

“That’s not what it is.”

“Oh really? Because from where I was standing, it sure as hell looks like it.”

His eyes narrow, but his voice stays measured. “I woke up this mornin’ thinkin’ I pushed you into somethin’ you weren’t ready for."

"I was."

He drags a hand over his beard, looking away for a beat before speaking. “I crossed a line."

That knocks the wind out of me for a second. “What?”

He meets my gaze again, voice low. “It’s one thing to make you cum. It's another to sleep with you. That's intimate. That's not what we are." He drags a hand over his beard, looking away for a beat before speaking.

My jaw tightens. “what are we?"

His eyes flash, the muscle in his cheek ticking. “We talked about it at breakfast the other day. With us it's carnal, it's hunger. And when I woke up this morning wrapped around you I panicked."

The words make something in my chest squeeze. “So you thought ignoring me would be a good idea."

His mouth opens like he’s going to argue, then shuts again. He exhales through his nose, a frustrated sound and then I see his eyes are wet. It makes my breathing hitch. "Aside from Tess I've never held another woman while she slept in my life. It felt more like a betrayal than anything else we've done." His jaw flexes. “You’re too damn easy to want." 

I swallow hard, my anger tangled with something softer. I understand it now.  

"And I’m here to work at this conference," he says as he glances around furtively, concerned we're being overheard. "This is my job, my career. I should be focused on that, not..."

“Not what?” I push when he trails off, stepping in until we’re close enough that I have to tip my chin up to keep his gaze.

He doesn’t look away. “Not thinking about how you'd look underneath me."   

We’re breathing the same air now. His gaze drops to my mouth, then snaps back to my eyes like he’s reminding himself of some unspoken rule. His hand twitches at his side, debating whether to touch me.

"You're allowed to have your boundaries, Joel. Just like I am. No more falling asleep together. Just..." 

I trail off, the meaning clear. His eyes flick to my mouth again, voice husky. 

"I don't want you doin' something you're rushin' into, darlin'. You need to think it through."

We’re toe-to-toe now, and I can feel the warmth of his breath when he exhales. My pulse hammers in my ears. “You don’t get to make decisions for me, Joel,” I say quietly. “I'm a grown woman. If you're not sure how I feel, just ask me.”

His gaze searches mine, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to see past every layer. “If I ask you now am I gonna like the answer?”

"Depends."

We’re too close, his chest rising and falling, the faint scent hotel shampoo and coffee clinging to him. His hand twitches like he’s fighting the urge to touch me.

"On what?"

His eyes drop to my mouth. My lips part without permission, my breath catching. I feel his knuckles brush mine, light, tentative, testing.

"On whether you're going to fuck me properly or not."

For a second, it’s like the rest of the world disappears. I lean in a fraction. He mirrors it. My nose nearly grazes his. One more breath and we’d be kissing. Our noses nearly graze. His breath brushes my lips. Then someone laughs sharply from across the hall, noise hitting us like a jolt when we both pull back, as if remembering ourselves at the exact same time.

Joel’s voice is rough when he says, “We’ll talk later.” 

I force myself to nod, though my whole body still feels suspended in that almost.

“Later.”

We make our way back to the booth much to Tommy's relief and the rhythm falls into place almost instantly. Joel and Tommy field most of the questions, easy and confident in the technical details. I hover at the edge, half-listening, half-taking mental notes.

It’s like watching two versions of the same man; Joel, slower and more deliberate, with a weight behind his words; Tommy, quicker, with an easy grin. They don’t even have to look at each other to pass off answers. Both ooze charisma, but Joel's feels more intense, more focused. But that just might be the looks he shoots me through the day. 

I start picking up stray brochures when the table gets messy, jotting down a potential lead’s name when Joel is mid-sentence, catching when someone’s eyes flick toward a product banner and jumping in with a little hook.

Joel catches it once, his gaze flicking to me briefly like he’s noticed I’ve found my lane. He doesn’t comment, but I can tell he’s clocked it. It makes warmth flare deep in my chest. 

A woman approaches, tall, beautiful, wearing a fitted navy dress. She’s scanning the booth like she’s shopping. 

Her eyes inevitably land on the Miller men, not that I can blame her. Joel’s got that solid, grounded presence that draws people in. But Tommy’s leaning on the counter, charm at full wattage and that's where her attention lingers.

“Morning ma'am,” Tommy greets her easily. “What brings you by?”

"I'm with Whonstar," she says smoothly, her eyes scanning him languidly. 

"Oh, yeah, we've heard of you," Tommy says, his eyes taking her in just as sensually."Y'all specialize in eco-friendly construction, right?"

"Mhmm." 

"My name is Tommy," he says extending a hand her way. 

She takes it, looking at him like Joel and I don't exist. "Maria." 

"Pleased to meet you." He smiles. "Whonstar is quite the company. Really dominated the past five years." 

"My father is very passionate about it," Maria says evenly, "as am I. I believe in the message, I just need others to see the benefit." 

I nod along, already recognizing the challenge she’s probably up against. I think back to the marketing symposium, the idea I jotted down in my notebook when it came to me. I step forward, my heart pounding.

“Do you think you might be getting buried under generic sustainability messaging?”

Her head tilts, interest flickering in her eyes as she stares at me.

“I-I mean, If you frame it as a luxury choice instead of just a responsible one, you could tap into a whole other demographic," I say trying to keep calm. "Higher spenders who want to feel exclusive as well ethical.”

 “Luxury? In the eco-field of design?”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling a little shy when I realize they're all looking at me. “Your brand already has the clean aesthetic; your reputation alone could launch you into a sub-company that could double your perceived value without changing a single thing operationally.”

Joel’s quiet beside me, and I can feel his gaze. I don't know where all of this is coming from. It's like all the things I've been passively reading, listening to, is all coalescing in my mind. 

 “It make people feel like they’re part of an exclusive club that happens to be sustainable, instead of making them feel guilty for not being.”

She laughs, short but genuine, and studies me for a moment. “That’s an interesting angle.”

Maria smiles, a little conspiratorial now. “What’s your role here?”

Before I can answer, Tommy says, “She’s learnin’ the ropes.”

Maria gives him a faint smile, and then looks back at me. “Well, I’ll keep that tip in mind. Thank you.”

She shakes my hand, gives a parting nod to the brothers, and walks off, heels clicking.

“That right there?" Tommy says quietly, his eyes on her retreating figure, 'That’s the white whale.”

Joel nods. “Yeah.”

I look from face to face, confused. "How come?" 

"She’s got a client list like you wouldn’t believe, developers, architects, even government contracts. She could put us in front of people who don’t even look at small firms. If we land her, we’re not just buildin’ houses anymore.”

“And she’s only pickin’ one construction partner for that sustainability push," Joel adds. 

“Exactly. One. You think I’m kiddin’ when I say it’d set us up for years? Man, if we nail this, we could stop hustlin’ for little jobs and just focus on the good ones.” 

Joel nods once, thoughtful.

"She sure liked you," Tommy says to me with a grin. “You just sold her on herself. That’s some kind of magic trick.”

I shrug; suddenly aware Joel’s still looking at me. “Just marketing.”

“Mm,” Joel says, low enough I almost miss it. “Looks good on you.”

By the time the crowd thins, my feet are aching, my throat scratchy from smiling and talking more than I’m used to. Tommy’s leaning back against the booth table like he’s in a bar, sipping from a paper cup of coffee that smells burnt. 

Joel’s eyes are flicking over the room as though he’s still on alert for anyone who might wander by.

The conference floor starts to shut down for the day, the fluorescent hum overhead softening as vendors pack up. Someone announces this evenings mixer over the loudspeakers: a casual networking thing in the hotel lounge.

"Do they have those every night?" I ask, curious. 

"Oh yeah. This crowd loves a chance to drink." Tommy slaps Joel on the back. “Mixer’s where you close deals, right, big brother?" 

Joel mutters, “Mixer’s where you get roped into drinkin’ warm wine with people you don’t like.”

I smother a laugh and Tommy grins at me. “You comin’?" 

Joel’s gaze cuts to me again, steady and assessing, curious. 

"Yeah, sure, I'll meet you both there." 

________________________________________

A few hours later, I smooth my hands down the front of my blouse before opening my hotel room door. I’ve gone for the middle ground — polished enough to look professional, but not so buttoned-up that it feels stiff. 

A fitted blouse in a deep jewel tone, slim trousers, heels that make my posture better even if my feet will hate me later. I’ve let my hair down, literally and figuratively, with just enough curl to look like I didn’t spend too much time trying.

The door next to mine clicks open at the exact same time and Joel steps out, straightening the cuff of his shirt. He’s swapped his work boots for dark brown leather ones that match his belt, his button-down tucked in, the sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. 

There’s a clean, warm scent that drifts over faintly spicy, layered over hotel soap.

His eyes flick over me once, quick but not careless, like he’s taking stock. “Headin’ down?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He nods toward the elevator at the end of the hall. “Walk together?”

It’s casual enough, but something in the way he says it makes my pulse skip.

“Sure.”

We fall into step, his arm brushing mine once before we both adjust, keeping the polite distance two colleagues would in public. But I’m aware of him the whole way down the hall, the slow, easy way he moves, the way his presence feels like it fills the space.

The elevator doors slide open and we step inside. The moment the doors close, the hum of the hotel fades, leaving just the quiet mechanical groan of descent.

I can feel him beside me, close enough that if I turned my head, I’d see the darker flecks in his eyes.

"You look good." 

It’s not what he says, but how calm he says it; like there’s no urgency, but his eyes say something else entirely.

"So do you," I smile back. 

The doors open again, and we step out into the hotel lobby as if nothing happened, our expressions neutral, our pace steady. The hotel lounge is already humming when we walk in, the space crowded with small round tables, the low thump of music blending with the sound of conversation and clinking glasses. 

The conference badge around my neck feels like a little flag announcing I’m here to network, even if I’m still figuring out my place here. Tommy’s already got a drink in his hand, leaning against the bar with a woman I recognize instantly even though she's dressed to the nines. Maria. 

“Hey, there you are,” Tommy says when he spots us, grinning wide. “You remember Maria.”

She turns to me, her gaze appraising but not unkind. "Nice to see you again. Please, join us."

Joel’s quiet, but when I sit, he rests his hand on the back of my chair, casual, steady, thumb brushing the edge of my shoulder blade before moving away. The touch is fleeting, but I feel it.

"I've been thinking about your free marketing advice earlier," Maria says, lifting her wine to her mouth. 

I laugh, a little embarrassed. 

“Not many people tell me something I haven’t already considered.” 

That’s good?”

“It’s rare,” she says simply, setting her glass down. “And you were right, we have been stuck in that sustainability-as-responsibility narrative. It’s safe. It’s predictable. And it’s starting to bore me.”

I glance at Tommy and Joel, but they’re both watching her like hawks. Tommy with a spark of charm in his eye, Joel quieter, weighing every word.

“So you’re thinking…?” I ask carefully

“I’m thinking,” Maria says, leaning in slightly, “if your company can build what I’m imagining , something bold enough to grab the luxury market while staying authentically green, you’d have my attention.”

“We can do it.”

She glances at Joel. “That’s a challenge. Most firms talk big, but they can’t deliver on both.”

Tommy grins. “We don’t screw up.”

Maria studies him, then me. “Maybe. But I’m picky.” She swirls her wine once, deliberate. “I choose one partner for my campaigns. One. If and only if I choose you, you’re not just building for me; you’re building for every high-profile client I hand to you."

Joel’s voice is steady when he says, “We’re the right choice.”

Maria’s lips curve, like she enjoys the confidence. “I guess we'll see.” 

Maria shifts the topic and she and Tommy start to chat now. They talk about nothing exciting but the chemistry is undeniable. She's quick to counter his jokes, and he’s clearly enjoying the sparring. 

She even leans in when she laughs, her hand grazing his sleeve like she’s known him longer than a day. It's fun to see but at the same time I'm jealous that they can be so open with their attraction while I have to suppress my desire to touch him. 

He sits back in his chair, looking thoughtful as he watches them. I wonder if he's thinking the same thing as me. I’m halfway through a sip of wine when a familiar voice cuts in.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Rick says, appearing at the other side of the table like he’s been waiting for an opening. 

"Couldn't say no to the free booze," I say trying to look calm in front of Maria. 

His gaze lingers on me a little too long. “About earlier-” 

Having Joel behind me makes me feel more confident. I give him a polite smile. “Don't worry about it. I'm sure we've all moved on. I know I have."

When Rick leans a little closer, Joel shifts just enough that his knee brushes mine under the table. It’s subtle but deliberate. His mouth ticks at the corner, the smallest signal that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Maria glances between Rick and I once, like she’s reading more than we’re saying, before turning back to Tommy with another teasing line that fades into the music. 

"It was rude and inappropriate," Rick says before moving his eyes to Joel. "You were right to call me out on it." 

I feel Joel relax slightly. 

"Anyway, that's all I wanted to say," Rick says before he excuses himself for “another drink." 

"Well that was unexpected," I murmur behind my wine glass. 

"Sure was." 

The conversations around us keep flowing, but I feel the clock ticking down. I don't want to wait. I want his hands on me, his tongue in my mouth, and his body over mine. 

"I'm pretty tired," I say softly, "I'm going to head up."

"I'll walk you," Joel says casually, like it's not strange for him to be tired too. “Been a long day.”

Tommy is barely paying attention, his eyes are on Maria. 

“Thanks,” I answer.

He stands, offering the table a polite nod, and we leave together. Both of us are composed, the tension between us growing with every step away. 

The walk back to the rooms is quiet, each step thick with everything we haven’t said all day. I can feel Joel’s presence at my side, the weight of his glance when we pass under a pool of hallway light, the way his hand flexes once at his side like he’s holding himself in check.

We step into the empty elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft chime. The moment they click closed, it’s like something snaps.Joel’s on me in two strides, his hand finding my waist. My back hits the cool metal wall, his body pressing into mine, and I can feel the tension in him like a live wire, 

 His mouth grazes my jaw before sliding lower, warm and urgent against the curve of my neck. I gasp, my fingers curling into his hair, holding him there as if I can anchor myself against the surge of heat flooding me.

He breathes low against my skin. "You gonna cum on my cock tonight?" 

His rough, hungry words make my pulse stumble and my knees weaken. "Yes. Yes, I want that." 

I tilt my head back, my eyes closing as his mouth drags lower, each touch deliberate, claiming. 

"Can practically smell how wet you are," he growls, hand sliding under my pants, fingers fumbling over my panties, feeling the soaked gusset with one harsh stroke over the cotton. "Oh, darlin’, she's cryin' for me." 

"I've been wet for you all day," I moan, my hand going to palm his hardening cock through his pants. "All I want is you inside me." 

My fingers tighten in his hair, and he makes a sound in his throat. "That's what you're gonna get, baby," he says through a groan, his hips rutting against my hand. "I'm gonna fuck this pretty pussy all night." 

The elevator slows, and in the heartbeat before the doors open, we step apart, both breathing harder than we should be, our eyes locking with the silent acknowledgement of what is going to happen.

We walk out without a word, but every step toward our rooms feels like a continuation of what started behind those closed doors. The carpet muffles our footsteps, but the air between is still humming with what just happened. My skin is warm where his mouth had been, my fingers tingling from where they’d clutched his hair.

We walk side by side, neither of us speaking, but his hand brushes mine as we reach our doors. We stop at the same time, facing each other with only a couple feet between us.

Joel’s jaw works like he’s biting back words. His eyes drop briefly to my mouth, and then back up again. “See you inside?"

The silence stretches, thick and charged. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, in my throat, in the tips of my fingers. I finally swallow, nodding.  

The keycard trembles just slightly between my fingers as I swipe it. The soft click of the lock feels like the loudest sound in the hallway. I push the door open and step inside without turning on the lights, the muted city glow from the window casting long shadows across the carpet. I don’t look back, but I hear Joel’s door shut behind him.

For the first time tonight I'm intimidated. Not by Joel but by what we're doing. About that line we thought would never be crossed again. The soft click of the adjoining door feels louder than it should, like it’s echoing inside my chest. I don’t turn around. I can’t. The air between us is already charged enough to make my pulse thrum in my ears.

His footsteps over the carpet are deliberate, measured, each one a reminder that the line we’ve been circling for days is right here in front of us. I feel him before he touches me, his heat, his presence, the faintest trace of his cologne cutting through the hotel’s bland scent.

Then his hands are there, warm and steady, resting lightly on my shoulders as though he’s giving me one last chance to pull away. I don’t.

He shifts my hair aside with a slow sweep of his fingers, tucking it over one shoulder. The cool air grazes my bare neck for only a moment before the heat of his mouth replaces it. His lips find my skin, lingering in a slow, deliberate kiss.

I let my eyes close and lean back into him, the shape of his body aligning with mine like it’s been waiting for this. His breath drifts warm over the spot he just kissed, and I shiver.

His mouth brushes my neck again, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. Then his voice comes, low and close to my ear.

“You wanna move to the bed?”

. My throat feels tight, but I manage a small, “Yeah.”

He gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze before stepping back. I turn just enough to see him move ahead of me, crossing the short distance to the bed and sitting on the edge. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on me in a way that makes it hard to breathe.

“Come here,” he says, and it’s nothing more than two words but they pull me toward him like a spell. 

When I stop in front of him, his hands come up to the hem of my shirt, fingers finding the first button. He doesn’t rush. Each one is undone with care, the pads of his fingers brushing my skin in the process. He can see the peek of my bra but his gaze flickers up to mine as the shirt parts.

"You sure you wanna be here with me right now?” His voice is low, cautious and almost fragile.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly. The single word feels heavy, like a promise, an admission, a surrender all at once.

He lets out a breath I can feel more than hear, a shuddered sound of relief that seems to vibrate in the space between us. The tension I’ve been clutching in my chest loosens, just a fraction, and I realize how tight I’ve been holding my own restraint, how much of myself I’ve been bottling up.

“I need to know you’re sure about this," he murmurs, stepping a little closer. His hand hovers near mine, not touching, just tracing the air as if testing. “I don’t want to push you. I don’t want you to feel rushed or forced because like I told you, once this starts I won't be able to stop." 

I nod slowly. “I’m sure,” I whisper again. “I want to be here. I don’t want to stop." 

The last button falls away, and my shirt hangs open. His fingertips trail lightly along my sides, barely there, as though he’s memorizing the outline of me before he dares to take more.

His thumbs brush against my skin, slow strokes that make my stomach tighten, and then he eases the shirt off my shoulders. It slides down my arms and pools at my feet. His gaze follows the movement like he’s cataloging every second, every inch of skin he’s revealing.

“Fuck, I missed this body,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a growl. 

The confession hits me like a jolt. I swallow hard, standing there in front of him while he sits, knees spread, hands trailing lightly over my hips.

He guides me until I’m standing between his knees. His hands slide up my sides, over my ribs, up my spine until they unclasp my bra and my breasts spill heavily from the cups. The lacy fabric falls to the ground next to my shirt, soon joined by my pants until I stand in front of him in only my panties. 

"Goddamn I don't deserve this," be mutters, his hands coming to cup my breasts, thumbs rolling over the nipples. I gasp, arching into his warm palms. He looks up at me again, his breath soft when he speaks. "You really want my cock tonight, baby?" 

"Yes." 

His hands slide down it to my waist before leaving my body. They move between his spread legs and without breaking eye contact he unbuckle his belt, button and drags down the zipper. His cock is brought out, thick and weepy. 

"Show me how much."

His voice is so scratchy, so wrecked and I haven't even touched him properly. I drop to my knees without thought, my eyes glassy with need. I'm desperate for him. 

My hands smooth up his muscled thighs, mouth grazing the damp tip of him as he jerks. I smile up at him before leaning forward and pressing several small, wet kisses along his shaft. He watches me intently, pink lips forming a small o shape as I extend my tongue and lick around his swollen head watching his hands grip the sheets on the bed.

My tongue dips into his slit, wiggling around before swiping away. He's dribbling precum, the taste fresh on my tongue as I begin to suckle the head of him. 

"Take it slowly,” he murmurs softly, relaxing his legs apart further. “That’s a good girl."

My fingers dig into his thighs as my mouth swallows him and I begin to suck slowly, tongue circling as I do. He groans, lifting his hips eagerly.

"So pretty stuffed with my cock," he breathes, watching my eyes flutter. His eyes are so heavy lidded I’m surprised he can see much. 

My lips thin to accommodate his girth, but even still I feel saliva leaking out the corners of my mouth. Joel sees this and I feel him thrust a little deeper. 

"Aw, sweetheart, you're droolin'."

I take him deeper, watching his lower lip tremble for a moment before he lets out a sharp "fuck" and cups the back of my head. 

It feels heavenly when his fingers grip my roots, holding me in place as his hips circle, sliding his cock in and withdrawing. All the while I kneel there, wanting him to use me. I squirm, my fingers sneaking into my panties, fingers splaying over my clit. 

He smiles down at me. "Does it just feel so good to have my cock fillin’ that pretty mouth?"

I hum the affirmative around his meaty cock, feeling him slide further, hitting the back of my throat gently. Saliva drips onto the pants shoved around his hips. 

"Uh huh, go on," Joel murmurs, his hand holding the back of my head in place. "You can take it, honey."

I gag slightly when his cock starts to feed down my throat, my face buried in the curls at the base. The scent, the sensation, it all serves to undo me. 

"Shhh, c'mon baby," he soothes as he slides deeper, "Show me how good you can be. Show me how much you missed him."  

He begins thrusting in earnest now, forcing my neck back with his movements, making me choke around him. But even as he does this my fingers scrub at my clit, so turned on I can't even see straight.

"So good, such a good girl for me,” he grunts between thrusts."You need this just as much as me." 

He's right of course. I have been dreaming about sucking his cock since the last time. Since I was under the desk taking him. 

"It's yours tonight, baby," he growls. "My cock. My cum. It's yours." 

He surprises me when he suddenly slows. His voice dropping into something rougher, more dangerous.

"Get up on the bed. I can't wait."

As I scramble up onto the mattress he takes off his clothes, naked and flushed. Without ceremony he drags my panties down my legs, bringing them to his nose to inhale. 

"Spread for me, baby," Joel orders huskily as he plants one knee on the bed. "Wanna see her. Just know she missed me."

I don't hesitate anymore. If Joel wants me bare and spread he'll get it. I don't feel shame or hesitation when I let my thighs drop for him, only excitement when he sighs, dragging me to the edge of the bed. 

"This is the most perfect cunt I've ever seen," he says, kneeling there, his mouth descending to kiss my sternum."I've needed this for weeks," he growls against my belly, kissing down my body as he cups my breasts. "So fucking soft."

My back arches, eyes fluttering at his words and touch. He plays with my tits for a while, palming and kneading and pinching the nipples until they throb. 

"I imagined this you know," he murmurs, looking at me. "Imagined my tongue in your cunt, hearin' those little whines of yours.”

“I wanted it," I say, rolling my hips. "Every day." 

His tongue comes to lick a stripe up the center, fingers holding me in place when I start to buck. "Greedy thing," Joel smiles against my cunt. 

I moan as he spreads me wide, sinking two fingers in knuckle deep. My thighs quiver when he crooks them, hitting that spot my own fingers can't reach. 

"Joel!"

"I've got you," he murmurs, licking my clit thoroughly before scraping his front teeth gently against the slippery bud. Joel devours me, his little groans between sucks reverberate through my bones. 

"Joel, I'm-I'm gonna-"

"Do it, darlin'. Make it good." 

I cum with a desperate whine that turns into a stuttered moan. My fingers grip his hair tightly, holding as I run and roll against his mouth. He holds my thighs as they quake around his head, my pussy twitching as he laps up my honeyed release. 

"That's my girl," he rasps, grinning at me from between my legs.

"I love your curls," I whisper, carding my fingers through them. He smiles sweetly. 

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Gives me something to hold onto."

He laughs uproariously at this, grin overtaking his face, dimple carved into his cheek. "Better keep it long then," he chuckles again between kisses to my inner thighs. "If you like it."

I smile shyly at him, watching his gaze turn heated the longer I look at him. We know that what happens next will change things. He crawls up my body, pressing damp kisses on my skin along the way. 

His hands brace on either side of my hips, knuckles brushing the comforter as he shifts forward. The muscles in his forearms flex, tendons tight beneath tanned skin, and my pulse hiccups at the sheer size of him this close.

He moves up slowly, deliberate, until his body is caged over mine. The mattress dips under his weight, his chest hovering just above mine, eyes locked on me. One knee slides up between my thighs, anchoring me in place. He’s not touching me anywhere he shouldn’t, not yet, but the way his presence presses in feels like contact all the same. 

He doesn't speak as he's urging my legs to wrap around his hips. Not even when he grips his thick cock as he positions himself at my entrance. I stare at him, already fucked out and not even touched. My chest heaves, nipples tight, body aching for him. 

His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, rough pad catching on the damp skin there. "You're sure?"

"Yes." 

His gaze drops to my mouth forming the word, and then back up again, wrestling internally before finally, blessedly, his mouth lowers to mine.

Considering the position and what we're doing is inappropriately intimate. But I throw my arms around his waist, deepening the kiss anyway. Because nothing feels better than Joel. Nothing feels right like he does. 

His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back. He licks into my mouth deeply, groaning as our sexes grind against each other. He pulls back from kissing me, just enough for the cool air to slip between us. My lips are still tingling, parted, waiting, but the head of his cock is still pressed there at my entrance, waiting. 

"Look at me,” he orders and when our eyes connect he pushes in.

He pushes past the last of our promises, pushes past the last of our self control and I welcome it with a whine of his name. 

The stretch is exquisite. Just as it was that first time. But now he's taking his time, his hips rolling gently to pump achingly slow between me. He's perfect, thick and hard and I watch him saw between my legs, knowing that it's wrong, knowing that this is my boyfriends dad fucking me with his cock, but I don't care. As we move together, Joel’s forehead tips to mine, his breath ragged, eyes dark and unblinking.

"You feel too good," he murmurs against my mouth, the words rough, almost like he’s trying to scold me, but the low, shaky way they come out betrays him. 

The guilt is there in the air between us, thick and dangerous, but it only makes my chest tighten, my body ache for him more. My fingers dig into his back, dragging over the tense muscles, and he groans like the sound is being torn out of him.

"No goin' back now."

"I don’t care,” I breathe, my voice breaking on the admission. “I want you.”

Something snaps in him at that, the slow rhythm we’d been keeping giving way to something harder, faster, frantic. His hips drive into mine with a desperate edge, his hand gripping the back of my thigh to pull me closer, deeper. He thrusts brutally, the slap of wet skin lurid. 

"You're made for me," he pants as the mattress creaks beneath us, the pace dizzying now, and neither of us are saying no. We’re too far gone.

It’s fast, a messy joining, his cock thrusting to the hilt, the curls between our legs rasping. 

"C-condom?" I ask weakly, knowing it's already gone too far. 

"I'm fucking you bare," he grunts bouncing us on the bed with his thrusts. "I'm only ever fucking you bare."

He says it with no room for debate. That's okay; I wouldn't have fought very hard anyway. The feeling of his bare cock is like nothing I've ever felt before. It's too good to blunt with a condom. 

As if to punctuate his point he pulls out of me and slams back brutally. The fullness knocks the air from my lungs; I clutch at his shoulder, knuckles white, gasping into his mouth.

The pace is brutal in its desperation, every movement fueled by the knowledge that this is wrong. I’m breathless, body strung tight, shuddering as he grinds against me, lost to the way he fills me, the way his body cages mine.

Joel’s jaw presses to my temple, his groan low and strained, vibrating through me. “Not stoppin’… not now... Not ever.”

And I don’t want him to. Not with his body slamming into mine, not with the world narrowed down to heat and guilt and need

His pumps get faster, grunts louder and I cling harder, fingers scrabbling at the curve of his shoulderblades

His mouth is everywhere; on my cheek, my jaw, devouring my lips again, swallowing every ragged moan that slips out of me. He pins my wrists to the bed, the other of us watching himself thrusting in and out of me. 

"Look at how she takes me" Joel growls, his voice harsh, guttural. "Made to be fucked by this cock, sweetheart."

As he says that something shifts in me. It’s not enough that he wants me. It feels like I need to own him.The thought hits me sharp and hot, tangled with a guilt I can’t untangle. I really like Tess; she's never done anything bad by me. But right now, that doesn’t matter. Right now, I want to be the best thing Joel has ever had, the one thing he’ll never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tries.

I whine his name, unable to stop the way I gaze at him. I'm so taken by his handsome looks and the concentration in his face as he pushes in deep and rubs sweet circles around my clit. 

That's my girl," he says as he glides between my legs, watching my tits bounce with every thrust. "You're takin' me so well, sweetheart."

"Better than her?" I whisper, even though I shouldn't, the words spilling before I can stop them.

His grip tightens on my hips, a little harsher than before, and I feel the tension coiling in him. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to pull away, scowl, say something but he's ignoring me, pinning my wrists to the bed and starting to fuck me brutally. 

His hips move heavily, each thrust sharp, hungry, as though he can erase the guilt. 

“Joel,” I pant, unable to stop, “Am I better than her?”

Joel’s head snaps back just enough for me to see the flicker of something dark in his eyes! anger, hurt, maybe both. His jaw tightens. “Don’t,” he grits out, almost like it pains him.

But I don’t care. I feel too good, the drag of him inside me almost dizzying, our bodies moving like they were made for this. I pull him back down, my lips brushing his ear. “Tell me.”

He growls low in his throat, the sound rough and unsteady, his rhythm faltering for a split second before slamming back into me harder, faster. 

He’s deep, every thrust deliberate, his jaw tight like he’s holding something back. I can feel it in him, that stubborn streak, the part of him that doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction.

"I know you don't fuck your wife like this,” I whisper, my lips brushing his ear, my breath shaky. “I know she doesn't suck your cock like me."

His hips stutter for just a beat before he recovers, his hand tightening on my thigh. “Quit,” he warns.

I arch into him, letting out a soft moan right against his mouth, my nails dragging up his back. “I want to hear you say it.”

He shakes his head, breathing hard, eyes squeezing shut like he’s trying to block me out. “You know I ain’t-l-”

I squeeze around him deliberately, rolling my hips to meet each thrust, watching the way his face twists. “Say it, Joel,” I murmur, slow and sweet, even as my body begs for him to go faster. “Tell me I’m better.”

His rhythm falters again, a curse slipping out between clenched teeth. “Stop,” he grits, but there’s no heat in it, only desperation.

I whine against his skin, catching his bottom lip between my teeth before letting it go. My hips meet his in a sharper snap, and I feel him shudder. “Tell me and you can have anything you want,” I whisper. “You can have me anywhere, any way."

His eyes fly open, locking on mine, the fight in them fraying. He thrusts harder, like he’s trying to fuck the words away, but they’re right there on the edge of his tongue.

“Say it,” I push again, my voice breaking as pleasure ripples through me. “Tell the truth. Admit I’m better than her.”

His breath is hot against my cheek when he finally breaks.

“Yeah,” he rasps, the word torn out of him between thrusts. “God help me- yeah.” The sound of it sends me over the edge, my body clenching around him, dragging him into a pace so frantic it makes him babble. "Never fucked a pussy this perfect. Goddamn. Never had a mouth stuck me like that. You're a fucking dream." 

The sound of his voice, hoarse, unwilling, rocks through me harder than his thrusts. My nails bite into his shoulders, and he groans at the sting, like even my punishment turns him on. I feel it in the way his thrusts falter, then slam back in with more force, like he’s trying to drive the truth deeper. His mouth drops to my ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“You fuckin’-” He groans, his hips snapping against mine. "You-Christ-you squeeze me so tight when you’re close. She never-” He cuts off with a moan, like the thought alone is too much.

I gasp as he hits just right, my head tipping back. “More,” I whisper, my voice shaky.

His hand cups the back of my thigh, forcing it higher, fucking me harder. "You taste better,” he rasps. “Sound prettier when you cum. Make me lose my damn mind every time I’m inside you.”

The words are filthy and wrong, but they’re spilling out of him now, unstoppable. “You beg sweeter.” His thrusts turn erratic, his mouth at my neck. “You make me do bad things; you make me a bad man.”

His hand fists in my hair, pulling my mouth to his as we lose ourselves in it completely. The headboard knocks the wall in a relentless beat, our breath coming ragged between the slaps of skin.

“Joel-” My voice is a gasp when we pull apart, my head tipping back as his hips pound into mine. 

He mutters things I can’t catch, curses muffled against my skin, but I feel the heat of them burn straight to my core. I arch up into him, my body desperate to match his, to take everything he’s giving. The friction is dizzying, my stomach coiling tighter with each slam of his hips.

“Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice breaking. “Please, don’t stop.”

His forehead presses to mine again, sweat slick between us, his breath ragged. “We ain’t every stoppin’,”  he says, and it sounds like both a warning and a promise. "I’m gonna ruin you."

His thrusts turn rougher, more erratic. The tension builds sharp and fast, his name spilling from my lips in a high, desperate whine as my body seizes around him. The release rips through me in waves, my nails clawing at his back, my hips locking against his as I cum, body writhing. 

"Fuck that's pretty," he groans, "Fuck that's so-so-"

He curses, low and guttural, the sound breaking as he drives into me twice more before he’s gone coming with a shudder that makes him collapse over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

For a long moment, the only sound is our uneven breathing, the two of us tangled together in the wreckage of what we’ve just done

Sweaty and spent he rolls off of me, both of us warm and panting. We stare at the ceiling, shoulder to shoulder before our faces tilt to one another. Joel maps my face, his mouth curling into a lopsided grin.  

"You wanna get room service?"

"Yes." 

We’re both grinning like idiots, skin flushed, and hair messy. My body still hums from him that giddy, post-coital lightness making me want to laugh at nothing at all.

He pushes off the bed, reaching for the hotel phone. “Alright. Burgers? Fries?”

“Yes to all of it.”

He orders without even looking at the menu, like a man who knows exactly what will be good here and then tosses the phone back onto the cradle. “Food’s on its way. And we got- what-twenty minutes?”

I arch a brow at him. “And what exactly do you propose we do with twenty minutes?”

His grin is slow, a little wicked. “Shower?”

The bathroom’s big and glossy, steam curling against the glass walls by the time we step in. The heat hits my shoulders and I sigh, tipping my head back under the spray. Joel’s right behind me, his hands warm on my waist, his mouth brushing my neck lazily.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “I like seein’ you like this. Wet.”

“That was a terrible double entendre.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be clever,” he says, sliding a hand over my stomach, pulling me back against him. His lips drag down my shoulder and my laugh melts into a gasp when his fingers tighten.

We don’t waste all twenty minutes, but we come close.

By the time the knock at the door comes, we’re wrapped in hotel robes, hair damp, both of us still pink-cheeked. Joel answers with one hand gripping the belt of his robe, takes the tray from the server, and pushes it onto the table by the window.

“C’mere,” he says, lifting the lids to reveal two burgers, a mountain of fries, and a little dish of pickles.

We sit cross-legged across from each other, knees bumping under the table, steam from the food curling between us. I take a messy bite and groan. “God, that’s good.”

Joel watches me like I’m more interesting than the burger. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Eat yours,” I scold. “I’m not letting you just stare at me all night.”

“I ain’t starin’,” he says, but he’s smiling into his bite.

For a while it’s just the sound of chewing, the occasional clink of a fry being stolen from the other’s pile. I lean back, licking salt from my fingers. “This reminds me of my first ever date." 

He raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yep." I giggle. "Ninth grade.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good.” He leans on his elbow, giving me his full attention.

“I was such a late bloomer. I mean, painfully. No boobs, bad haircut, braces. I didn’t even get asked out until everyone else had already had, like, three boyfriends. And when I finally did, it was this guy from my biology class, Jason something, who asked me to the movies. But we couldn’t get a ride, so he took me to this little burger shack by the bus stop.”

Joel’s grin is already forming. “Romantic.”

“Hey, it was," I say slapping his arm. "At least to me. I remember sitting there with my knees knocking because I was so nervous. He asked if I wanted to share fries, and I thought it was the smoothest thing anyone had ever said to me.”

Joel lets out a laugh, shaking his head like he’s trying not to smile too much. “And did you?”

“Of course. But I was so scared of looking gross eating in front of him that I barely touched them. I think I ate, like, three fries. I went home starving.”

He’s smiling in that quiet, crinkled-eye way now, not mocking, just… soft. “You’re tellin’ me your first date was at a burger joint and you didn’t even eat the fries?”

“I was shy!” I protest, laughing. “Plus, I was convinced the ketchup was going to end up on my face and ruin my chances forever.”

Joel leans back, looking me over like he’s seeing a younger version of me sitting there. “You were nervous ‘cause you cared. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

I shrug, feeling warm in a way that has nothing to do with the wine or the shower. “It’s funny, this burger is way better than the one I had that night, but somehow I still think about that first one sometimes.”

He nods slowly, like he gets it. “Firsts stick with you. Doesn’t matter if they’re good or bad. They just do.”

Something quiet passes between us, unspoken but undeniable, and I find myself smiling into my burger just to break the weight of it.

Joel leans back, wiping his mouth with his thumb. "Tommy ever tell you about me an’ him tryin’ to build a go-kart when we were kids?”

“No, but this sounds promising.”

He smirks, eyes going a little faraway. “We were maybe twelve and ten. Scavenged wheels off an old lawnmower, hammered the frame outta scrap wood we found behind my uncle’s shed. We thought we were geniuses. Didn’t think about brakes. Or steering, really.”

I laugh, already picturing it. “This is going to end with a hospital trip, isn’t it?”

“Close. Ended with us takin’ it down the biggest hill in town. I was steering, ’cause I was older, obviously, and halfway down, the whole thing starts rattlin’ like it’s gonna come apart. Tommy’s screamin’ in my ear, I’m yellin’ at him to lean left, and we hit a ditch.”

I wince and grin at the same time. “You okay?”

“Woke up in somebody’s front yard with a busted lip. Tommy was fine, still talkin’ a mile a minute. First thing he says is, ‘We gotta fix the steering.’”

I can’t stop laughing. “You guys were fearless.”

He shrugs, but there’s pride in it. “Guess we just liked buildin’ stuff. And breakin’ it.”

We keep talking, about music we grew up with, the best meals we’ve ever had, the kind of houses we’d build if money didn’t matter. Every answer of his makes me want to ask another question, to keep him talking just to hear that soft, unguarded way he speaks when he’s not trying to be careful.

At some point my hand drifts over to steal another fry from his plate, and instead of swatting me away, he catches my wrist gently, thumb brushing my pulse. His eyes meet mine, and for a second, neither of us says anything.

Joel’s the one to break it, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’ve got ketchup on your cheek.”

I laugh, embarrassed, but when I go to wipe it, he leans in and does it for me with his thumb. 

"Thank goodness Jason something isn't here to see it." 

And just like that, we’re grinning again, pretending we’re not both a little dizzy from more than just the heat of the room.  And then the moment moves somewhere softer. Joel’s still holding my wrist when he says, “C’mere,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I let him pull me out of the chair, still warm from the food, and the way he’s been looking at me all night. He’s close enough that I can smell the faint salt of the fries on his skin, the soap from our shower clinging to him.

The kiss starts soft and slow but the taste of salt makes me smile against his mouth.

“What?” he murmurs.

“You taste like fries.”

He huffs a little laugh. “So do you.” Then he’s kissing me again, longer this time, his hand sliding to my hip.

When he picks me up, it’s easy for him, and my laugh turns into something softer as he carries me the few steps to the bed. He sits with me, knees touching, mouths finding each other again in little bursts between words.

It’s unhurried. We kiss, pull back to talk, kiss again. Sometimes the talking wins, sometimes the kissing does. We start with light things, his juicer story, the time I tried to dye my hair with Kool-Aid and smelled like cherries for a week. But as the minutes pass, the topics deepen without us meaning to.

“What about your first time?” Joel asks eventually, voice warm and low like he’s asking me for a secret.

I smile faintly. “It was unremarkable.”

“Yeah?”

“Seventeen. He was a friend from school. We were both convinced we were behind, so we decided to just get it over with.” I laugh softly, more at the memory than the act. “It was in his basement while his parents were upstairs watching TV. Romantic, right?”

Joel smirks but stays quiet, letting me go on.

“I remember thinking, ‘Okay, so that’s what it feels like.’ Not bad, not amazing, just something that happened.” I shrug. “I think I liked the idea of it more than the reality.”

“Bet you weren’t the only one,” Joel says gently.

“Probably not. But afterward, we sat on the floor and ate bagel bites and honestly, that part was better than the sex.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him. “Guess you learned early it ain’t just about the mechanics.”

“Exactly.” I glance at him, letting my gaze linger a beat longer than I mean to. “It’s about who you’re with. How you feel around them.”

He holds my eyes for a moment, something unspoken passing between us before he leans in to kiss me again.

We shift until we’re lying on our sides facing each other, my leg hooked over his, his hand drawing lazy circles on my hip. He tells me about his first time; an older girl who worked at the diner, who kissed him behind the walk-in fridge on her break.

“She knew what she was doin’,” he admits, grinning. “I was just tryin’ to keep up.”

"That's how I feel at the office," I grin. "You and Tommy are so brilliant, you talk so fast some days I have no idea what you're saying. Like you have you own short hand." 

"I guess we do." He looks at me. "But you can't sell yourself short. You had Maria eating out of your hand today."

"Hardly." 

"I was impressed." He smiles, "maybe next conference I'll let you take the lead on telling everyone about our LEED Platinum standards."

"I didn't know we were going to do that," I say, curious. "That's huge."

"We got three under our belt this year,” Joel says proudly. "Didn't wanna bring it up until next year's conference when the numbers are a little more impressive." 

"Have you always loved doing this sort of work?"

“I love it,” he says, voice low but fierce. “I love seeing something start as a line on a blueprint and turn into a place people actually live, work, laugh… it’s incredible.” 

The way he talks, so effortlessly passionate, makes my chest tighten. I feel this swell of admiration I hadn’t expected, not just for the work itself, but for him, the way he throws himself into it completely, like it’s not just a job, its part of who he is.

After that we talk about the dumbest purchases we’ve ever made, the worst haircuts, the jobs we hated most.“What was yours?” he asks.

“Call center,” I say immediately. “Eight hours of fake cheerfulness, trying to sell internet bundles to people who didn’t want them. I’d get home and my jaw would ache from smiling.”

He chuckles. “Worked at a car wash one summer. Sunburn, soap in my eyes, and a boss who thought ‘team spirit’ meant makin’ us sing to customers. Hated every second.”

We laugh until our sides hurt, and when it fades, there’s this easy quiet. My hand drifts up to push the hair from his forehead, and his eyes close like he’s savoring it. “This feels good,” he says after a long pause.

“The bed?” I tease.

“Your company.” His voice is certain, like it’s not up for debate.

Something warm spreads through me, slow and steady. “I like being with you too.”

We stay like that, talking about places we’ve never been but want to see, things we’d do if money wasn’t an issue.

“I’d have a little cabin somewhere,” I say. “By a lake. Big kitchen, huge windows. I’d spend all my mornings there.”

“Sounds nice,” he says. “I’d have a shop. Big enough to build whatever I wanted. No deadlines, no clients tellin’ me I measured wrong. Just buildin’.”

“I’d visit,” I say, and it’s half a joke, half something else.

“You better.”

The conversation wanders again, favorite books, the best meal we’ve ever had, the music that makes us feel something even after a hundred listens. At one point, we’re lying so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath when he talks.

“Your eyes change when you’re tellin’ a story,” he says suddenly.

I blink. “They do?”

“Yeah. You get this look like you’re relivin’ it when you talk. It’s nice to watch.”

I don’t know what to do with that, so I kiss him instead. It goes on like this for what feels like hours. Kissing until we’re breathless, pulling back to talk, laughing over nothing, and falling quiet again just to look at each other.

 The hotel’s air conditioner hums low, and Joel’s thumb keeps making lazy strokes over my arm like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Y’get real quiet when you’re sleepy,” he murmurs, voice already softened by exhaustion.

“I’m not sleepy,” I protest, even though my eyelids feel heavy.

He gives a little chuckle, chest rumbling against my cheek. “Yeah, you are.”

I tip my head back to look at him. “If I go to sleep, you’ll go to sleep. And then it’ll be morning.”

“And that's a bad thing?” he asks, smiling faintly.

I nod my head, stubborn. “Yes. I don't want to waste this time." 

So we keep talking, voices low and wandering, about the best way to make coffee, about what we’d order if we could have one meal from anywhere in the world right now, about how we’d spend a day if there were no clocks.

Joel yawns mid-sentence and rubs his nose against my hair. “Your turn. Tell me somethin’ else ‘bout you.”

I think for a moment, smiling sleepily. “I like thunderstorms. But only when I’m inside, watching. I don’t like being caught in the rain.”

“Means I’ll have to make sure you’ve always got somewhere warm to wait one out,” he murmurs, eyes almost closed.

“That’s sweet,” I whisper. 

“Mm-hm,” he hums, already halfway to dreaming. 

The conversation slows, stretching out between yawns and half-finished thoughts. My sentences trail off; his replies are soft hums.

Eventually, I glance at the clock. “It’s almost three. I should go back to my room.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, shifting behind me and pulling me back into his chest. "Five more minutes." His arm hooks tight around my middle, his breath fanning warm against the back of my neck.

“Joel-"

“Five,” he murmurs again, softer this time, already on the edge of sleep. “Then you can go.”

I should go. But God, it feels so good, the weight of him, the heat of his body pressed into mine, the steady rhythm of his breathing. I could fall asleep like this and not care about anything else.But I remember what he said before, how sleeping together, holding each other like this, was crossing a line. And I don’t want to cross it. I don't want the memory of this night spoiled.

So I stay just long enough to memorize the way it feels, the way his hand curls loosely over my hip, the way his breath tickles the fine hairs at my nape and then very carefully, I turn my head, pressing my lips softly to his temple. Then, carefully, I slip out from under his arm. I stand there for a moment in the dim light, watching him. He looks unguarded in sleep, lashes resting against his cheek.

I pad to the side of the room quietly, but before I open the connecting door I glance back one last time. He’s on his side now, robe loose, the empty space beside him still warm from me. And I know despite everything he’s said, despite everything I’ve told myself, that intimacy is already here.

Maybe it’s been here longer than either of us has wanted to admit.

________________________________________

you wanted this

@yslgreen @jmg2631 @arsonistsworld @222divine @pleurspetal @speaktothehandpeasants | @glitterspark | @xtrxsha | @acrazyfangirlforeva | @ultra-nina-bella | @hhjhgdaiqoqoan | @wildthyng | @untamedheart81 | @eloquentdreamer | @danaispunk | @getitoutofmymindwrites | @pedrofan | @joelssimp | @maryrhodalouandted | @mallingcalling-blog | @justobsessedwithyou | @ivoryandflame | @hhjhgdaiqoqoan | @endurexxsurvive | @percyjacks-blue | @killinmyslf |@itsjuststardust | @shivispunk | @menshipsandthesea | @alixiscoping | @spacelatinos4life | @sarahhxx03 | @gabymalikk | @joelsgrubbyflannel @akah565 | @sohaaa6

[callmecath1]

They are soooooooooo fucked !!!!

THIS STORY NEEDS TO BE READ BY EVERYONE!!

I can’t wait to see how it develops!!

[djjo-keerys]

THE LAST OF US (HBO) PEDRO PASCAL as JOEL MILLER in 1x05 Endure and Survive

[callmecath1]

#iwanthimsobad

[fullmoonlovestuff]

Joel on a horse gives me thoughts....filthy thoughts and I dont know why...

[coppersaladstories-deactivated2]

Part four: ruin me

rating: X (not for minors) \ 10,2k words / bf dad joel miller x female reader

tags: if you don't like smut and morally ambiguous characters this is not the fic for you. you accidentally fuck your bf's dad. and then you keep fucking him.

masterlist

For everyone who has been following this fic I really luv ya. This chapter is what you've been waiting for. I wrote it quick because you all seem to very feral for this dynamic as am I. I have an ending in mind so I kind of know where I'm going with this. I hope you leave disgusting long comments and hilarious reblogs so I know it was worth working through my lunch hour. And you can blame @gothicpaperback for this filthy chapter because she's been texting me about it nonstop and I love her for it. 🤗

You have to pick the places you don't walk away from. - Joan Didion

Jack is warm and solid beside me, his breath slowing into that deep, steady rhythm that means he’s already gone. The streetlight outside cuts a pale stripe across the bedroom wall.

I should be asleep too, but my brain won’t shut up. Joel in the kitchen, the hard ridge of his cock outlined in his sweatpants. That heated look he had for me. The internship. The way the evening went sideways.

Internship. At Joel’s office. Joel’s cock. Internship. Joel. 

The words keep looping like a bad pop song. I roll onto my side, pressing into Jack’s back, curling my knees up until they rest against his. He’s so warm it’s like my body is trying to soak him in. My fingers rest lightly against his hipbone through the soft cotton of his boxers.

If I close my eyes, I can pretend my only worry is whether I’ll be good at filing things. That I’m just some normal girl about to start her first office job. That the man in charge isn’t the same one who fucked me in the cab of his truck, who murmured in my ear in that low drawl, who-

My stomach twists.

I tell myself I’m anxious because it’s going to be awkward; the clipped politeness, the constant tiptoeing around each other while Tess and Jack stay blissfully oblivious. I picture myself at a desk, the hum of printers, the smell of coffee, Joel's voice from the other room giving orders. The way he’ll probably ignore me entirely, or worse, glance over just enough to remind me that he hasn’t forgotten either. 

And then… there’s this other thought. It creeps in before I can slam the door on it, the idea of being trapped in that space with him. The air between us tight and electric in a way that has nothing to do with fluorescent lights and blueprints. That stubborn part of me that remembers exactly how his eyes looked when he wanted me, how my skin lit up under his touch.

The thought sends a rush of heat straight through me. My knees press harder against Jack’s. My fingers curl into his soft shirt. I hate myself. 

Jack’s here, trusting, sleeping, completely unaware. Tess went out of her way to help me. I should be grateful, focused on the opportunity, professional. Not lying here in the dark letting my body react like some traitor just because Joel’s face flashed in my mind.

I shift back a little; creating space between me and Jack, but that only makes the cold creep in. My head feels loud. Like I can hear my blood moving through my veins.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll smile at Tess and say thank you again. I’ll go into that office with my chin up my eyes clear. I’ll keep my mind exactly where it should be; on learning, on the job.

But here, now, in the dim bedroom with Jack’s steady breathing filling the quiet, I can’t shake it, the sick mix of dread and anticipation curling in my gut. The knowledge that walking into Joel’s office won’t just make me nervous. It’ll make me remember. And remembering is dangerous.

I turn onto my back, stare up at the ceiling, and will myself to think about literally anything else.

__________________________________________

Tess greets me as I sail into the kitchen Monday morning. She's holding out a thermos of coffee for me. "Joel's already in the truck, honey." 

 I pause taking the thermos from her. I wonder if she made one up for Jack before he left with our car. My car is you want to get technical. But his job is a far drive and mine, I could get to by bus. 

Miller Bros Construction Company head office is about a thirty minute bus ride from down the street. I've already packed my bag, worn my best clothes and popped a little notepad and pencil into my purse. But I can't stop looking at Tess.

 Joel is already in the truck, honey. The truck you fucked him in. The truck where he fucked his cum into you. 

My jaw hinges open. "What?"

"To drive you to the office," Tess explains, amused at my face. 

"Oh, no, I don't want a ride," I say quickly. "I wanted to learn the bus route."

"Nonsense you're both going to the same place," she laughs looking at her watch. "And you're gonna be late." 

As if on cue I hear the faint sound of a horn beeping from outside. Tess rolls her eyes, gently urging me to the door. 

The morning air hits me like a cool slap, crisp enough to sting my cheeks. The driveway’s still damp from last night’s rain, a sheen of water catching the pale sunlight. Joel’s truck idles at the curb, a squat, solid shape in muted blue.

He’s in the driver’s seat, one arm hooked over the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead. The horn must’ve been his version of knocking politely.

I tug my bag higher on my shoulder, muttering a half-hearted “Bye” over my shoulder to Tess before making the walk down. Each step feels like it takes twice as long as it should, not because it’s far, but because every single one brings me closer to him.

The moment I open the passenger door, the scent hits me: sawdust, coffee, and the faint ghost of cologne.

“Morning,” I say, my tone flat but polite.

His gaze flickers toward me for less than a second before settling back on the windshield. “You’re late.”

I click the seatbelt into place harder than necessary. “Not my idea. I was going to take the bus.”

He doesn’t respond, just shifts the truck into gear, pulling away from the curb with a smooth, deliberate motion. The engine’s rumble fills the space between us, a low vibration under my feet. I can feel it through the seat, through my spine.

The cab is warm, almost too warm. I push my coat collar open, trying not to fidget. My knee bounces once before I force it still. His hand rests on the gearshift, fingers tapping a slow, uneven rhythm that makes my pulse match it in spite of myself.

I steal a glance at him. His jaw is tight; his profile carved in the morning light. I see the faint line of stubble, the crease between his brows. He looks exactly like he did the night in the pub when I first noticed him, only now there’s no half-smile, no hint of invitation. Just that closed, careful face.

“You don’t have to drive me again,” I say, breaking the silence if only to keep my brain from sinking deeper into it.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

The way he says it makes my jaw tighten.

“Good,” I say, and stare out the window at the blur of houses sliding past.

We pass through the heart of town in a steady, reluctant rhythm: traffic lights blinking yellow, a few early risers walking dogs, the bakery already spilling the smell of bread into the street. Joel doesn’t put the radio on, and I’m certain it’s deliberate; an unspoken rule that nothing fills the space but the sound of the engine.

Every time he shifts gears, his arm moves close enough that I can feel the heat of him. I tell myself to ignore it, but my body betrays me, tuned to the small things: the scrape of his knuckle against the worn leather shifter, the faint flex in his forearm, the way his thigh shifts against the seat.

The closer we get to the industrial strip, the more my stomach knots.

The rest of the drive is nothing but the hum of the road and the sound of my own heartbeat, too loud in my ears. Every time he shifts gears, his arm moves close enough that I can feel the heat of him, and I hate that my body notices. 

It’s ridiculous. It’s infuriating. It’s the longest ten minutes of my life

Joel swings the truck into a gravel lot with practiced ease, pulling up in front of a low building with weathered siding and the company’s name painted in bold, blocky letters. He kills the engine. The silence after the rumble feels deafening.

“Here,” he says simply, as if it’s the only word he’s willing to give me.

I nod once, yanking my bag from my lap, and push open the door. The cold air rushes in, sharp and clean. It feels better than the warmth of the cab.

I already know the relief won’t last. The gravel crunches under my boots as I follow Joel toward the entrance. He doesn’t wait for me, just strides ahead with that unhurried, purposeful gait of his.

The front door is heavy, painted in the same muted blue as the truck, and when he pushes it open, the scent of the place hits me: paper, coffee, and the faint, sharp tang of fresh-cut lumber drifting in from somewhere unseen.

It’s warmer inside, the kind of warmth that clings to you after a few minutes. A couple of desks line one wall, all stacked with folders, rolls of drafting paper, and neat little piles of business cards. A young blonde is on the phone, chatting away and making notes on a sticky pad.

There’s a corkboard crammed with site maps and schedules. The hum of an air conditioner fills the corners, steady and low. And then there’s a Tommy leaning back in a swivel chair behind one of the desks, phone in one hand, a pencil tucked behind his ear. 

"Well, look who finally made it.” His voice is lighter than Joel’s, tinged with amusement but without the edge.

I smile back, relieved at the lack of tension. 

I glance briefly at Joel, who’s already halfway down the hall with a muttered, “Show her where she’s workin’,” before disappearing into what I assume is his office down the hall.

"Thanks for the opportunity," I say honestly to Tommy. Despite how awkward things are, this will help my career. 

His grin widens, genuine. “I mean, this is mostly construction management, but we do a lot of design consulting. You’ll get to see how a plan actually becomes a building, all the messy parts no one tells you about.”

There’s an easy warmth in the way he says it, and it makes some of the tension in my shoulders ease. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself since climbing into Joel’s truck.

Tommy steps aside, gesturing toward a desk near the window. “This’ll be yours for now. We’ll set you up with some basic stuff, get you on the drafting software so you can poke around. You’ll probably be shadowing me most days. Joel’s got his hands full with the client side.”

Sweet relief floods me. I have no interest in shadowing Joel. If I can help it I would love if I didn't have to interact with him ever again.  I focus on the view from the desk. Outside, the lot opens onto a sprawl of metal-sided warehouses and the pale winter sky.

“This is kind of perfect,” I admit, settling my bag on the chair.

“Good,” Tommy says, leaning against the edge of his own desk. “And hey, you ever got questions, even the dumb ones, you ask me. I’ll give you the real answer before Joel gives you the scary one.”

That earns a laugh out of me, quick and unexpected. It feels good, like a breath of clean air after a long time under water.

From down the hall, a door clicks shut. Heavy footsteps. The air shifts before Joel even appears, as though the temperature changes just from his presence.

Tommy straightens, glancing toward his brother. “We were just gettin’ her set up.”

Joel’s eyes flick over me before he nods once. “Good.” Then, to Tommy, “She’s your problem today. I'm going to the Dufresne place." 

And just like that Joel is gone, disappearing like a ghost out the door and I am thankful for it. 

Tommy smirks. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like that before his second coffee.”

I manage a thin smile, though my pulse is still loud in my ears. 

For the rest of the day I get used to the design software, delighted at how easy it is to use. Tommy comes over every so often to answer questions. When the day comes to a close and Joel isn't back I scan my phone for the bus timetable. I'm new to town but I'll figure it out. 

"How're you gettin' home?" Tommy asks me looking concerned. 

"Bus." I look at the timetable on my phone trying to situate myself when I feel Tommy's hand on my lower back. 

"C'mon. I'll give you a ride." 

Tommy walks me out to his truck, a battered red Chevy that rattles a little when it starts up. The air has dropped to a sharper chill than this morning. The parking space is empty, the blue truck gone, and for some reason the sight leaves a strange hollow in my chest.

“Guess you’re stuck with me as chauffeur,” Tommy says, grinning as he pulls onto the road.

“Not stuck at all,” I say honestly. He’s been easy to talk to all day, patient in explaining the drafting software, never making me feel like I was asking too much.

The ride back is comfortable, broken by stories about past projects and Tommy’s enthusiastic rundown of the coffee shop down the street from the office, apparently the best muffins in the city.

When we pull into the driveway, Tess is already stepping out onto the porch, sweater sleeves pushed up, her smile warm. “You’re staying for dinner, right?” she calls before Tommy can even answer.

He glances at me, smirking. “Looks like I am.”

Inside, the kitchen smells of roasted chicken and thyme, steam fogging the lower panes of the window. Tess, sliding a tray of potatoes out of the oven while directing Tommy to grab plates from the cabinet.

“Joel’s not with you?”

“Naw, had to check the Dufresne place. Takin’ his time though.”

I take my usual spot at the table, opposite the empty chair at the head. Joel’s chair. Tess doesn’t comment on his absence but I catch the faint pull between her brows when she sets his place anyway.

The table is set for five, the roast chicken steaming in the center, potatoes glistening in a wide dish. Tess moves with the controlled grace of someone trying not to show she’s annoyed, but I can feel it radiating from her in waves.

Jack comes in from the living room, grinning when he sees Tommy. “Hey, man.”

They shake hands, clasping each other’s shoulders, and Tess urges us all to sit just after Jack gives me a quick kiss and hello. I'm so thankful to see him, my heart beating steadily. 

Joel’s chair at the head of the table is conspicuously empty. We eat without him at first. Tess asks about my day and Tommy tells some story about a near-disaster on site, how one of the guys nearly backed a truck into the porta-potty. 

We’re halfway through the meal when the front door opens and Joel steps in, shoulders broad under his dark jacket, the faint scent of whiskey cutting through the roasted herbs. His eyes flick over the table, landing briefly on me before moving on.

“Evenin’,” he says to the table, low.

“You’re late,” Tess says evenly, not quite looking at him.

“Caught up at work,” he replies, hanging up his jacket. His voice is calm, but there’s something in it; not slurred, not exactly, but softened around the edges in a way that speaks to more than one drink.

Tess places the serving spoon down with a muted clink. “Sit.” She doesn’t look up as she passes him the plate.

He takes his seat, muttering something like thanks, and digs in without meeting anyone’s eyes. When he finally does speak, it’s to Tommy. “Appreciate you takin’ her home.”

Tommy just shrugs. “No problem.”

No one points out that the remark sounds like a formality rather than gratitude, but the weight of it hangs there anyway. The scrape of his fork against the plate is the loudest sound in the room for a long moment.

Tommy senses it instantly. “So, uh,” he says brightly, “Jack tells me you’re savin' up for your own place.”

Jack glances at me, then nods. “Yeah, trying to find something that’s not a shoebox but also doesn’t cost a kidney.”

Tommy laughs, shaking his head. “You’ll get there. You should’ve seen my first place, thought it had charm until the ceiling leaked brown water every time it rained.”

Even Tess smiles faintly at that. I let out a polite chuckle, but Joel doesn’t so much as twitch.

After dinner, Tommy leaves with a promise to show me the coffee shop tomorrow. Tess hugs him at the door, her expression softening in a way it hasn’t all evening.

Jack and I retreat to the couch, a mindless action movie playing while we curl under a blanket. His arm drapes over my shoulders, his body warm against mine, but my attention drifts. I keep thinking about Joel’s silence at the table, the way Tess’s jaw tightened every time he ignored a thread of conversation.

Eventually, I excuse myself to use the bathroom. The hallway is dim except for the warm slant of light spilling from a half-open door! Joel and Tess’s bedroom. I mean to pass by quietly, but the voices inside stop me cold.

“You didn’t even drive her home, Joel?” Tess’s tone is sharp, incredulous.

A pause. The rustle of fabric, like someone shifting on the bed. “Tommy was there.”

“That’s not the point.” Her voice rises just enough to carry. “You’ve been cold to her since the moment you met. And for what? Because you’ve decided she’s not good enough for Jack?”

My stomach twists. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be listening, but my feet feel rooted to the carpet.

Joel’s voice is lower now, harder to catch. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Tess presses. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re going out of your way to make her feel unwelcome in this house. And I don’t know why. She’s trying, Joel. She’s been nothing but polite. If this is about protecting Jack, fine, but you’re going to end up pushing him away too.”

I picture him leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Tess’s voice softens, but there’s steel in it. “You need to smarten up before you make another decision you’ll regret.”

Another decision. The phrase lands like a stone in my chest.

Joel exhales, a sound caught between frustration and surrender. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” she says, unyielding.

But he doesn’t. There’s just that long, taut silence, and I realize he’s not going to give her anything. What could he possibly say? That he fucked his son’s girlfriend? That he cheated on his wife? 

I back away on quiet steps, my pulse thudding in my ears. I keep walking until I’m in our bedroom, shutting the door softly behind me.

Jack’s voice drifts from the living room, calling something about the movie. I murmur back an excuse about being tired and slip into bed, lying on my side in the dark. The words loop in my mind. Another decision he’ll regret. I don’t know what she meant. I don’t know if I want to. But the one thing I do know is that Joel didn’t deny it.

__________________________________________

The next morning my alarm goes off and I seriously debate just not going. The thought of another intense ride with Joel is making me ill. 

"Wake up sleepyhead." Jack's voice is at my ear, body warm. "I wanna grab a coffee before driving us." 

"Huh?" I'm still groggy with sleep, staring at him. 

"I don't work until ten today," Jack smiles, kissing the bridge of my nose. "I wanted to drive my girl to work. I wanted to drive you yesterday but I couldn't change the schedule." 

I throw my arms around his neck, peppering his face with thankful kisses. 

The car ride to the office is quiet in the best way. Jack reaches over to squeeze my hand as we navigate the streets, a gentle reminder that I’m not alone in this, even if I’m stepping into a world I’ve never been a part of before.

“You were so tired last night I didn't wanna bug you,” he says softly. “But how did it go yesterday?"

I fake a smile. "Fine. Your uncle Tommy is really nice."

"Yeah, always has been. He's a good guy. "His eyes fly from the road back to me. He can see I'm still tense. "Don’t try to do everything at once, babe. This is only your second day. Be kind to yourself.”

I smile at him, nerves fluttering in my chest. “I’ll try.”

A small kiss, a lingering hand squeeze in the car and I step out into the morning sunlight, carrying a mix of excitement and anxiety.

I make my way through the door and Tommy greets me in the lobby with an easy grin. “Ready to get started on day two?”

I nod, fumbling slightly with my notebook and pen. 

Tommy’s movements are fluid and patient, never rushed. I find myself relaxing under his easy warmth, grateful for a guide who doesn’t make me feel like an intruder.

“You’ll mostly be observing today,” he says as he hands me a hard hat. “Taking notes, following me around, asking questions. I want questions, you hear?”

I nod again, grateful for the sensible start as I follow close after him. And despite his offers that evening, I take the bus home claiming that I have a few stops to make. In truth I need this bit of autonomy in my day, a chance to be away from the Miller's for a bit. 

Jack changes his shifts to start at ten which means he comes home later, but it also means that he drives me to work each morning. 

"I want to see you off in the morning," he explains one night cuddling under the covers. "It’s important." 

I know that Jack is doing this in part because of our break. That the guilt of ending things prompts this affection. And I don't mind, I appreciate it.

Meanwhile after his talk with Tess, Joel seems almost tolerable at home when Tess and Jack are around. Not warm, but he’ll speak to me without that dismissive tone and maybe even offer to pass the salt.  

Tess has a way of softening the edges in a room, smoothing him out like she’s spent years perfecting the art of keeping him socially acceptable. But the moment I step into his domain at the office something changes. It’s like a switch flips.

 The air is different here, and so is he. Joel doesn’t look at me unless he has to, and when he does, it’s like he’s measuring how much space I take up and deciding it’s already too much. His voice stays low, professional, but there’s no mistaking the cold current underneath.

I catch myself wondering if it’s because Tess isn’t here to see it or if he’s making a point. But it's an alliance I'm willing to endure because every two weeks our bank account grows thanks to Jack's job.

It’s the third Friday of June when things fall to absolute pieces.

__________________________________________

Tommy’s truck hums along the back roads to the site, windows cracked to let in the late-morning breeze. He chats easily, pointing out construction quirks, joking about some rookie mistake from last week. His voice is warm, steady, and I find myself relaxing, letting the nervous tight coil in my stomach loosen bit by bit.

“You’re gonna love this part,” he says, pulling into the gravel lot. “This is where the magic actually happens, the chaos that somehow turns into a building.”

I follow him through the site, eyes wide. Scaffolding towers above me, steel beams crisscrossing against the sky. Piles of lumber and brick line the perimeter. The air smells like sawdust, fresh concrete, and something metallic.

Tommy hands me a hard hat and a neon vest, fussing with the straps to make sure they fit snugly. “Safety first, architecture prodigy.”

I laugh, despite my nerves, and slip them on. The weight of the hard hat feels grounding, almost protective. I clutch my notebook and pen, ready to scribble everything down, desperate not to miss a single detail.

He notices every time I hesitate in asking a question, correcting my measurements gently without ever making me feel incompetent. I can feel my confidence building under his quiet encouragement.

Hours pass, sunlight shifting across the beams, dust motes floating lazily in the shafts of light. I scribble notes furiously, trying to absorb it all, losing myself in the technicalities and the rhythm of the site. I don't even notice when Joel arrives until Tommy mentions it. 

I glance up to see Joel with his clipboard in hand, speaking with a foreman. His posture is taut, deliberate, like he’s part sculpture, part predator. At first, he doesn’t meet my gaze; his attention is elsewhere, to the work, to the people, to the site. But the moment I glance back, I feel it: the faint, almost imperceptible awareness of being watched.

And then our eyes meet.

Its brief, a flash across the site, but it ignites something inside me. His expression is assessing, unreadable, and my pulse spikes sharply, then retreats, then spikes again as though my body can’t quite settle. He turns away as if nothing happened, but I know better. The tension lingers, heavy and electric, pulsing through the air between us.

I scribble faster, shaking off the flush creeping up my neck, telling myself it’s ridiculous. He’s my boss’s father, technically, and there’s Jack, and this is a work site, and yet… that brush of awareness, that unspoken acknowledgment, makes every breath feel charged.

But my attention keeps drifting. Every time I glance up, Joel is somewhere else; consulting, pointing, moving with controlled energy. There’s a rhythm to him, he’s confident force that draws the eye even when he isn’t intentionally looking at me. And when he does glance my way, the contact is fleeting, teasing in its restraint.

The contrast between he and Tommy is striking. Tommy is warmth, a tether to the present, making the site feel safe, manageable. Joel is fire beneath the calm, unpredictable, and yet tethered just enough to the rules of propriety to make the tension unbearable.

I catch him once leaning against a support beam, clipboard tucked under one arm, surveying the site. Our eyes meet for a heartbeat longer this time, and I feel something coil in my stomach that isn’t fear. Something sharper, hotter, that makes my pen shake in my hand. He’s deliberately avoiding me, but he’s aware, and that unspoken load, that careful edge of attention, makes the air around him thrum.

Tommy doesn’t press, just keeps explaining the next stage of construction, laughing at his own jokes, occasionally glancing my way to make sure I’m following.  He’s a steady presence, the calm amid my spiraling awareness of Joel. And yet, every time I look up from my notes, my eyes find Joel, and that pulse of tension hits again.

"Shit," Tommy says, glancing up into the sky. "Looks like it might rain later. That'll put us behind." 

I frown, thinking of how poorly dressed I am if that turns out to be the case. Tommy is facing me, brow down. 

"You mind grabbing the umbrella from the car?" 

I nod, taking the keys from his outstretched hand, happy to be helpful and jog to the truck.  When I return Tommy and Joel are standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the site. They don’t notice me approaching.

 “I have to say…” I hear Tommy saying, “She’s really not like most interns. Pays attention, actually seems to want to learn.”

My chest tightens. I freeze mid-step, suddenly aware of how conspicuous my presence might be if they notice me listening. But at the same time I don't know how to interrupt. Joel doesn’t answer immediately, but the subtle shift in tone is enough for me to feel the weight of him in the room. 

"S'good to know."

“Most interns just want to check the boxes, get the credit, and leave,” Tommy adds. “She actually engages with the work.”

I can’t help the small thrill that pulses through me at hearing this. The words make me warm all over, but there’s a quick, painful twist at the thought of Joel listening, too. Part of me wants him to agree, to nod, to validate that yes, I can do this and yet another part knows that even the smallest acknowledgment from him would light a fire I don’t want to fuel.

“And…” Tommy’s tone shifts slightly, teasing, playful, drawing the word out. “…according to some of the guys havin' something pretty to look at around the site doesn’t hurt either.”

The sound of Joel snapping is like a whip cracking through the air. “Tommy!” 

His voice is harsh, clipped, and tighter than it should be.  I feel it in my chest as I catch my breath, suddenly aware of the rapid thrum of my heartbeat. He’s turned, cheeks flushed, jaw rigid, tension running through every line of him.

Tommy freezes mid-laugh, the half-smile on his face faltering. “I didn't say it!”

My stomach twists. Part of me wants to laugh, not out of humor, but nervous, disbelieving energy. My cheeks warm, partly from embarrassment, partly from the rush of awareness that comes with knowing I’m being discussed, being evaluated, being . . Desired?

Tommy freezes, hands raised slightly as if to placate him. “I swear, Joel, it was what the guys were sayin'. You know how they are.”

“She’s here to work. Not to be stared at.”

The words hit me in an odd way. Not because he’s angry at me but because of how protective he sounds, how sharp his tone, the way it vibrates in the air and lands somewhere deep in my chest. A guilty part of me thrills at it, while another part screams that I shouldn’t be thinking about it this way.

“You never get this up in arms when they perv on Luna.”

“She ain’t dating my son.”

“Joel, these are blue collar men. That’s just the way they talk. You know that, you used to be that. Winking at the pretty women who walked by. It’s how you met Tess for chrissakes!”

“Enough.” Joel’s voice is low, dangerous, and full of controlled fire.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Tommy says and to his credit he sounds embarrassed. "Was just shop talk. Hell, I'm old enough to be her daddy. I just think she's a bright spot around the place."

My mind is a riot of conflicting thoughts: admiration for Tommy’s easy charm and warmth, nervous excitement at his praise, the sudden realization of how aware Joel is, how strangely protective. 

I'm shaky, both in nerves and tension and the blueprints drop from my hands onto the grass. I make a small noise and the brothers turn to see me kneeling to pick them up. 

"There she is," Tommy says sweetly. “We were just talkin’ about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re a breath of fresh air, wantin’ to learn, actually carin’.”

I smile, handing him the umbrella but all I can feel is Joel's eyes on my profile. 

“Thank you, Tommy.”

A beam shifts under a crane, metal groaning, and I flinch. Joel mutters something under his breath and goes stalking over toward the foreman, issuing a command with a clipped tone, sharp but controlled. Even from twenty feet away, the authority in his voice sends a shiver down my spine

By the time we wrap up for lunch, I’m flushed, exhausted and entirely distracted. Joel disappears to speak with the project manager, leaving me with Tommy.

He doesn't return. 

My hands shake slightly as I gather my notebook, pretending it’s from fatigue and not from the electric, impossible awareness of Joel’s gaze.

Tommy glances at me, eyebrows raised. “You okay?”

I manage a smile, tucking my pen into my pocket. “Yeah. Just taking it all in.”

On the drive back to the office the storm clouds roll in, casting a darkness over the scene. Tommy's radio plays something cheery and twangy but I'm distracted. 

"I'm gonna drop you at the office, and you can finish filling those notes from today, yeah? Once you're done email em over to me and Joel. I gotta go up to Laredo for a meetin' and wanna beat the traffic." 

"Sounds good." 

The office is quiet except for the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the soft tap of rain against the windows. Outside, sheets of water run down the glass in silvery rivers, distorting the streetlights into blurry streaks. 

Luna is gone for the day, so she’s not there to give me help on my annotations. So I’m there well past closing, hunched over my desk using the online filling system Tommy showed me. Honestly, I like this part of the job, the focus, the control, the quiet after the chaos of the site. It’s meditative, almost comforting, and it keeps my thoughts from drifting back to Joel too often.

The rain drumbeats a steady rhythm on the roof, calming in its constancy. My coat hangs forgotten on the back of my chair, a thin jacket that offers little protection if I had to venture outside. I shiver slightly, curling into myself.

I finish sending off the files, my fingers inching to my phone, noting the time. Jack is still at work so it's best to call an Uber. The office door opens suddenly, a gust of wind and a faint spray of rain sneaking in behind it. I glance up, startled.

Joel.

Water drips from his hair and jacket, puddling faintly near his boots. His eyes scan the office, expression tight, jaw set. He takes a step inside, shaking out the excess water from his sleeves, the sound sharp in the empty room. The air seems to change the moment he crosses the threshold, charged and heavy.

“You’re still here,” he says, voice low and clipped, irritation mingling with something I can’t quite name. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just stands there, clipboard tucked under one arm, gaze flicking over the invoices scattered on my desk.

“I was just finishing up,” I say, suddenly conscious of how soaked and unprepared I am for this downpour. “I wanted to get these notes filed and sent before I left.”

He doesn’t move closer, but I feel the heat of his awareness pressing against me. It’s impossible to ignore, the way his eyes sweep over me, brief, assessing. He hates that he notices me and I can feel the tension vibrating between us, charged.

“I wish I knew it was going to rain,” I say trying to lighten the mood, aware of the thin jacket and flats that leave me cold and damp. My voice wavers just slightly, betraying how ridiculous I must seem.

Joel exhales sharply, brushing his fingers through his wet hair, irritation and something else flickering across his features. He shifts his weight, just enough for me to notice the tight coil in his shoulders. 

“Do you think you'd be able to give me a ride home?" 

His jaw tightens imperceptibly. The words are simple, but the effect is immediate: a crack in his carefully maintained composure. 

“M'not a taxi." His tone is low, controlled. Not angry yet, just sharpened at the edges.

"Didn't say you were," I sigh, exhausted. "Just trying to save money on an Uber but don't worry about it." 

He watches me tidy up the desk, working fast before pulling out my phone. He takes a seat behind his desk, still watching as I order the car. A few moments pass as I type in the information, exhaling when I see it’ll be a good thirty minutes before one shows up.

"Thought you were supposed file the notes from the last build."

I glance over to see Joel squinting at the computer screen, frowning.

“I did.”

“You’re supposed to send the attachment to me and Tommy.”

“I already did it."

"Where?" He doesn’t even look my way when he asks because to Joel Miller I'm invisible, I'm something he despises as much as he desires and I'm furious at him for taking it out on me.

 I throw up my hands. "For fucks sake, Joel, open your eyes! It's there in your inbox. I sent the link ten minutes ago."

The tension breaks, sending Joel to his feet and flying my way with a frenzied look in his eyes. "The fuck you just say?"

"I'm so sick of this!” I shout, pushing myself out of the desk chair and throwing myself his way. “I’ve been nothing but respectful while you make it your mission to treat me like I’m a piece of shit!" 

His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking there. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, so you can ignore me, but I can’t say anything about it?” I take a step forward, the words coming faster now, sharper. “You’ve made it crystal clear you don’t like me. Fine. I don’t care. But I haven’t done a damn thing to deserve the way you look at me, the way you talk to me when no one else is around.”

He stands up from his chair, body wide, frame looming. His voice dips even lower, dangerous now. “You think I like having you around? You think I don’t see the way you-”

“The way I what?” I snap. “Breathe near you? Exist in the same room?”

Something flares in his eyes and he closes the distance between us in two strides, the air between us crackling.

“You’re in my house,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. “At my table. And now you’re in my office.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I shoot back. “I didn’t ask for Tess to push the internship. I didn’t ask to be under your roof. You think I want to be around you?”

His mouth twists into something bitter.  I take a step toward him this time, closing the last inch between us until I can feel the heat coming off him. 

“You treat me like shit because you feel guilty every time you see me," I say. "Like somehow it's all my fault." 

Joel is quiet, his body still and I believe what I'm saying is getting through to him. But then he shakes his head, looking at me darkly. “Don’t,” he warns, but his low voice has lost some of its certainty.

“Don’t what?” I press, my tone sharper now, almost daring. “Call you out?”

We’re too close, too worked up, and neither of us is backing down.

"Maybe it's not just that you feel guilty," I hiss. "Maybe it's that you get a hard on every time we're alone."

His nostrils flare. For a second, I think he’s going to shove past me and leave the office altogether and I beat him to it, throwing my purse over my shoulder and moving to the office for. 

He moves so fast I don’t have time to react; his hand catches my arm, stopping me. Before I can say a word, he's got a fist in the back of my shirt, pressing me against his desk until my chest is flush with the wood.  

“Joel-" I gasp, half protest, half disbelief.

“Shut up,” he grits out, his breath rough in my ear. His other hand is on my hip, forcing me still. “You wanted to know why I treat you the way I do? This is why. You talk like a fucking whore.”

We’re both breathing hard, and I can feel him behind me, too close, too warm, and too big. Then I feel the unmistakable press of his cock, solid and throbbing against me. 

"And you're hard," I spit over my shoulder. "So what does that say about you?" 

I should move. I should want to move. Except I don’t actually want to move. Feeling his hands on me, the press of his weight against me makes my body come alive and the harder it is to remember why this is a mistake. 

The guilt is already there, pressing heavy in my ribs, whispering reminders of who he is, who I am, what this would cost. I picture Jack’s face, Tess’s laugh, the kitchen at home with the morning light slanting in and still I can’t seem to make my feet work.

I can feel his breath, hot and uneven, the tension rolling off him in waves. His grip is rough, almost punishing, like he’s trying to teach me a lesson and punish himself at the same time. His hips gently rut against my ass.

I feel like I have to remind him that what he's doing is insane. That pinning me against his office door is insane considering our relationship to one another.

“Joel, no,” I manage, though my voice is already breaking under the weight of it. "Jack... Tess." 

His hands hesitate for a fraction of a second, but they don’t move away. “You think I don’t know that?” he says, his voice low and ragged. “You think I don’t wake up every damn day telling myself to stay the hell away from you?”

“Then why-” I start, but he cuts me off with a grunt, forcing his bulge against my ass and grinding harder. 

“Because I can't stop,” he says. “You make it fuckin' impossible.”

His hands skim my thighs, slow now, almost gentle before his grip turns hard again, fingers digging in like he wants to leave a mark. “You think I don't notice how you look at me all fuckin' day? Like you want me to touch you.”

I bite back the instinct to deny it, because we both know it’s pointless. The tension’s been there for weeks, an undercurrent beneath every fight, every cutting remark when we’re alone.

“That's what you want,” I whisper even though it sounds false in my own ears.

"Just me?"

"Yes."

“The hell it is,” he mutters, and his voice is frayed at the edges now, his self-control hanging by threads.

His hand slides up the back of my neck, gripping my hair by the roots and pulling me back into him. 

"You're tellin' me I'm the only one who feels this-this pull? This need?" 

“Joel…” My voice is soft but laced with something I can’t quite hide, the cool wood against my chest. 

“You’re tellin’ me you ain’t wet right now?”

My palms are splayed flat over the spread of paperwork, the edges of the desk biting into my hips, but I barely feel it. All I feel is him behind me; solid, immovable, a wall of fury and restraint that’s cracking. 

His hand is at the back of my neck, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough that I know I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. That’s the worst of it. The part that makes bile rise in my throat even as desire pulses low in my belly.

“You're a tease,” Joel mutters, his voice rough, frayed like it’s been dragged across gravel. I feel the heft of his chest on my back. His breath brushes the side of my head, hot and furious. "You act like you're not giving me fuck-me eyes all day and then crawlin' into bed with my son every night."

My eyes squeeze shut, my cheek pressed to the hard wood.

“Is that why you're so angry? Do you wish I was crawling into bed with you, Joel?”

 The words scrape out of me, a whisper I don’t mean. A dare I do. He goes still behind me. I can feel his body vibrating with restraint, every muscle pulled taut. "No." 

"But you want me."

“Enough.” His voice drops lower, ragged, like it’s tearing at him from the inside. My cheek is squashed against the desk, my view stuck on the desk across the room.

"Because I want you, Joel," I confess as my face burns. "That first night, the first time I saw you. I wanted you so fucking bad.”

“Don’t-” His hand fists harder in my hair, pulling my head back so I’m forced to look sideways over my shoulder. "Don't say that."

His hips press into me, leaving no room for denial. The evidence of what he wants is right there, solid and undeniable, and I suck in a sharp breath. He groans low, guttural, and shoves me harder into the desk.  Like he wants to fuck me right through it. 

His forehead drops briefly, a ragged sound tearing out of him as he continues to circle his clothed erection between my thighs. He cuts himself off, his breath stuttering. “Goddamn it. I'm fucking married."

Something in me twists at the mention of Tess, guilt, shame, and a knife-edge of regret I have no right to feel. But the rest of me is on fire, drowning in the contradiction of it all.

“You think I don’t hate myself too?” I whisper, my nails digging into the desk. “Every time I look at you? That I don’t feel disgusted when I sit there at dinner with you? I feel like I can’t breathe. Everything makes me think of you. I can’t cum without your face in my head."

That does it. He snarls something I can’t catch and his hand is at my waistband, tugging my jeans and underwear down in rough, almost violent, like if he doesn’t get inside me now he’ll tear himself apart. The zipper scrapes loud in the silence, my pulse racing with it.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice shredded, he palms over my ass, down between my thighs, rough and claiming, making me gasp.

I feel his large hand fumbling between my thighs, thick digits prodding between my slick lips. I moan wantonly when he brushes my clit. 

"Already soaked," he says and while his voice is full disgust, there's no hiding the erection that's digging into my back. “Just like I said.”

He sighs, fingers thrusting into me shallowly as I whine. He hits just where I need it. Rubbing my walls, creating that friction which has my cunt sucking them deeper. My breath fogs the surface where my mouth huffs, cheek squashed against the desk. The faint hum of the desktop computer fills the silence between the low, shuddering sounds he makes under his breath.

Joel’s hands are rough and hot; gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll turn around, like looking at each other might make it worse.

It’s not surrender without consequence, the shame is still there, dark and gnawing, twisting tight in my stomach, but it’s tangled with something hotter, something I can’t untangle from the rest. It feels like falling, only I’m not sure which part will hurt more; the landing, or the fact that a part of me wants to keep falling.

He curses viciously, his chest covering my back now, the heat of him suffocating. His free hand pins mine flat to the desk, our fingers spread against each other like an anchor.

“Goddamn you,” he growls in my ear, every word trembling with fury as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of my cunt. “Goddamn you for makin’ me want you when I shouldn’t even fuckin’ look at you.”

I want to say something back, something that will make sense of this mess we’re in, but my mouth won’t work. All I can do is breathe, sharp and shallow, as he presses forward, each shift of his body a war between restraint and surrender.

 The smell of him is everywhere, warm skin, faint sweat, that woodsy cologne. It coats my mouth when I suck in a breath, mingling with the metallic tang of adrenaline. There's the sound of a belt buckle, of a zipper.

His belt still hangs loose, clinking softly as he moves, his thighs driving into the back of mine with a pace that’s nothing like patience. The desk shifts under us, its faint creak swallowed by the rain.

The storm outside roars, wind rattling the windows like even the world knows how wrong this is.

And yet my body yields when his fingers are removed. I arch my back and I look over my shoulder to see his fucked out expression. He sees it in mine too because he gives a growl that I feel down to my toes. 

His large cock is there at my entrance, his hand leading the head to drench itself in my honeyed arousal. His voice is dragged from the floor, raspy and devastated.

"Tell me we have to stop."

“I can't," I whisper again, my voice shaking. My hips tilt back into him, betraying me, betraying everything. 

His hands grip my hips, rough, anchoring me as he moves, his breath ragged against my shoulder. The first push of him inside is brutal, not in force but in what it means. My teeth catch on a cry, my eyes squeezing shut against the flood of sensation. He hisses through his teeth, the sound of a man breaking.

“Fuck," The word tears out of him. “So goddamn wrong.”

Every movement is messy, urgent, as if we both know we don’t have much time before one of us comes to our senses. My fingers curl against the desk until the pads burn. The sound of his breathing is ragged in my ear, now chest flush to my back. There’s no rhythm, no tenderness, just a frantic, furious need that neither of us can temper. Each thrust is a confession, a punishment, a plea for something neither of us deserve.

My cheek presses harder into the desk, my nails scraping wood as his pace builds, the storm inside him spilling over into every movement. His hips are slapping against my ass, thrusting me against the door, caged between the metal and Joel's thick cock breaching me over and over. 

His hands are brutal on my hips, yanking me back into him so hard my feet leave the ground for a split second before he drives me down again. The impact shudders through me, rattling my teeth. Sweat is rolling down the side of my neck, his chest grazing my shoulder blades with every lunge forward.

“Say it,” he grits out, his voice strangled. I wish I could see his face properly. 

"Say what?"

“Say you hate me.”

“I don’t,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “I should, but I don’t.”

He groans, the sound raw and guttural, and his hips slam into me harder.

The desk rattles under the force of him. Every thrust slams me forward, the wood biting into my hips, papers skittering across the surface. His belt clinks with the movement, the leather ends snapping against his thigh. The wet, obscene sound of him driving into me fills the office, sharp and steady under the rain against the glass.

Joel’s breathing is a harsh, uneven grind in my ear; short, punched-out grunts every time his hips hit mine. The muscles in his thighs bunch and release with each deep push, the heat of his body pressed up against my back.

“I hate you,” he rasps, but it’s hollow, false, trembling. “I hate how fuckin’ good you feel. Hate that I want you like this.” His breath stutters, a curse falling from his lips as his body shakes against mine.

The desk creaks like it might give, and still he doesn’t slow; hips pistoning into me in a frantic, punishing rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the slap of skin on skin and the low, raw sound he makes when it’s good for him.

It builds like the storm outside, relentless, consuming. His voice is in my ear, curses and broken fragments of my name, his body driving into mine until I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but take him.

The orgasm crashes into me, causing me to scream his name, thrusting myself backwards on his cock.  "F-fuck! Joel!" 

His rhythm starts to falter, the hard, steady pumping giving way to rougher, deeper thrusts that grind me into the desk. He’s louder now, the grunts spilling into curses, voice rough and low in my ear. Every breath drags out of him like it hurts to hold it in, hot against the back of my neck.

"You're so goddam tight. F-fuck, I’m’m….gonna cum." 

And then he’s shuddering, clutching my shoulder like he’s drowning, forehead pressed to my spine, the sound that rips from him half-groan, half-prayer.

"Inside," I beg, my body vibrating. "Please!" 

"No," he grunts as he viciously pulls himself from my cunt and begins stroking himself furiously, the wet slaps frantic.

One hand remains on my shoulder, keeping me pinned to the desk as he strokes himself over and over. But I want to make him fall apart. I want to be a part of it. My breath comes in ragged gasps.

“Finish inside me,” I demand, voice rough, edged with desperation.

“No.” He sneers, knuckles white on the desk, jaw tight. “Stop askin’,” he growls, teeth clenched, eyes dark with frustration. “You know we can’t do that.”

Every stroke makes his thighs tense, makes his throat work, a low sound slipping out that’s more animal than man. He’s fucking glorious and I am in awe, watching him over my shoulder.

“Joel..”

His eyes snap open at my whimper, locking on me, wide and furious with want. 

“Inside,” I beg, ass angling up for him. “Please.”

His breaths are rough, ragged, each one punched out of him like it hurts to hold back. His shirt is stretched across his chest, and his jaw works like he’s chewing on the urge to let go. 

“Shouldn’t.”

Even as he groans that he shuffles forward and presses back up against me, cock hard and teasing at my entrance, dragging just over me without going in. His hands grip my hips like he’s trying to stop himself, jaw tight, every muscle coiled.

“Don’t let me do this,” he hisses, voice low, ragged, teeth clenched.

“I want it,” I grind back against him, pressing into the heat, whining. “Joel it’ll feel so fucking good. You know how good it feels to fuck me.”

His hips twitch, a shudder running through him, but he holds back, biting out another curse. He lets out a sharp exhale and pushes just a fraction inside, teasing, testing me with the head of his cock.

I moan around it, rocking my hips, desperate. “I need more.”

The noise he makes rips through him, half curse and half desperate groan. It’s raw and guttural, the sound of a man breaking, and it makes my stomach twist with heat knowing I’ve dragged it out of him.

“Like last time,” I whisper. “Fuck me full.”

With a low, furious growl, he slams into me, hands gripping my hips so hard I gasp. Every thrust is jagged, messy, and brutal. His grunts and curses fill the office, raw and guttural, each one punctuated by the slap of skin against skin.

“You’re fucking relentless,” he rasps, voice thick with rage and need. “Manipulative little bitch, making me do this…”

The pressure of his wide hand between my shoulder blades pins me in place on the desk, forcing me to take him deeper. My body jolts with every slam of his hips, the sound of it sharp, wet, obscene.  I’m gasping, whimpering, arching back into him, and it only drives him harder.

“Makin’ me fuck this messy pussy full.”

The smell of sweat and sex thickens in the air, damp clothes clinging, rain still hammering the glass behind us. I can feel the tremor in his thighs, the twitch of his stomach pressed into me as his pace grows wild, desperate.

I can hear the faint catch in his throat when he goes deeper, the guttural curse he spits against the back of my neck.

"Fucking filthy little slut," he groans, even as he keeps stroking himself, tugging so fast the sound of clapping is like thunder. 

His pace goes savage, sloppy with need, desperate and punishing. He leans over me, pressing me to the desk, voice thick, every word rough and cutting.

“Gonna pump you full right here on my desk.” His hand slides from my hip to the front of my thigh, forcing me open wider for him. “Bet you’ll think about it every time you walk in here.”

I cry out, biting the edge of the wood, knees trembling, begging for more, pushing him to lose whatever control he’s clinging to. And he does, driving into me harder, faster, grunting curses and filthy words, full of rage, lust, and self-loathing. Every slam, every hiss, every rough command is hate, raw and messy.

My eyes begin rolling back in my head. His body is tilted back, watching how his wet cock is filling me. I’m completely gone, babbling about how good his cock feels, my ass rippling against every slam of his pelvis. I’m so close again.

His pace stutters, and then turns brutal, like his own words lit a fuse in him.  I gasp, gripping the edge of the desk as the wood digs into me. “Don’t stop” I moan, meeting him push for push.

“Not ‘til I’m empty inside you,” he promises and then he’s slamming into me so hard the desk creaks, both of us chasing the end.  His thrusts go ragged, desperate, each slam sloppier than the last, grunts breaking into low, choked curses.

I can feel him twitching against me, the tension coiling tighter with every slam and I cum again, drenching his cock, fluttering around the head. He spreads my cheeks, watching as it drips down the length of his cock, drenching the curls at the base.

“Fuck-I’m gonna-” he groans, voice cracking, gritting his teeth as he loses control. “You’re… fuckin’… I can’t… God damn it…” He shudders violently, hips pumping wildly, voice jagged, raw.

The first shudder wracks him and he jerks against me, teeth clenched, a strangled growl torn from his chest. The next comes faster, each slam punctuated by a hiss, a curse, a guttural groan as he spills, ragged and messy, heat hot and heavy, pounding into me like punishment. His hands are on my thighs, pulling them apart so he can finish as deeply as possible. My feet aren’t even on the ground anymore, he’s just holding and fucking into me.

“God, you –fuck… hate this… can’t stop… fuck…fuck it’s so good-” His voice is all broken, a filthy jumble of rage and lust, spitting out every word of contempt he feels for both of us as he rides it out, flooding my cunt with his cum.

His last shudder leaves him pressed hard against my back, chest heaving, jaw tight. For a long moment, there’s only our breathing, ragged and uneven and the pounding of rain. It’s like the fog in my brain has lifted and I’m very aware that I’m pinned to the desk of my boyfriend’s father. That is cum is leaking down my thighs. The world goes cold.

What did we just do?

The weight of Joel lingers for a beat too long before he pushes back, the sudden loss of heat making me shiver. Slowly, Joel pulls back, leaving me cold, my jeans twisted low around my calves. I stay there, terrified of what comes next

I stay bent forward, palms flat, catching my breath. The wood is damp under my hands, sweat, maybe, or the condensation from my skin, and the air smells thick with us.

Joel’s zipper rasps in the quiet, the clink of his belt buckle too loud in the empty office. The rain has softened to a steadier patter, tapping against the glass like it’s trying to remind us the world is still there. I can hear him breathing behind me, uneven, like he’s still trying to get himself under control.

When I finally turn, tugging my clothes back into place, he’s a step away, grabbing the box of Kleenex from a nearby desk. He hands it to me without speaking.

The washroom light is too bright, clinical, buzzing faintly overhead as I clean myself the best I can. I come to wash my hands and grip the edge of the sink. My reflection stares back at me, skin flushed, lips swollen, hair mussed like I’ve been caught in something I shouldn’t have survived. I barely recognize myself. 

My stomach twists hard, revulsion crawling up my throat. I turn on the tap, splash cold water over my face, but it doesn’t help, the girl in the mirror still looks ruined, still looks like someone who bent in front of her boyfriend’s father and begged for his cum. The shame comes in waves, heavier each time, until I can hardly breathe under it.

I exit the bathroom to see Joel braced on the edge of the desk like if he lets go he’ll fall. His head is bowed, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched.

“What the hell have we done,” he whispers, voice cracked wide open.

My throat is tight, my words gone. The shame of everything has overtaken us both leaving the world feeling tilted and broken.  My phone buzzes, breaking the quiet. I check it, feeling unsure. "The Uber is here... Should I -"

“Go.” The word is rough, final, shaking. His fists curl on the desk, knuckles red. “Just go.”

The storm outside swallows me as I exit, the weight of what we’ve done pressing heavier than the rain. 

What have we done?

__________________________________________

you wanted this

@yslgreen @jmg2631 @arsonistsworld @222divine @pleurspetal @speaktothehandpeasants | @glitterspark | @xtrxsha | @acrazyfangirlforeva | @ultra-nina-bella | @hhjhgdaiqoqoan | @wildthyng | @untamedheart81 | @eloquentdreamer | @danaispunk | @getitoutofmymindwrites | @pedrofan | @joelssimp | @maryrhodalouandted | @mallingcalling-blog | @justobsessedwithyou | @ivoryandflame | @hhjhgdaiqoqoan | @endurexxsurvive | @percyjacks-blue | @killinmyslf |

[callmecath1]

Jesus F*cking Christ.

This story is so good, it’s insane.

We are all reader, reader is all of us. I can’t wait to see how this develops. Their dynamic is so intriguing. So forbidden, so hot.

And what other mistake did Joel make ??? I am sat for this story !!!!!